Hail, Death, This Who Is About To Live Salutes You! Poem by Thaddeus Thierisch

My heavenly pregnancy is already lasting dozens of years
While the human larval stage is being delayed.
Sometimes my shoulders start to itch as if wings would erupt.
I would mightily flap and rise up... Far from it!
It‘s only a couple of relict acne
Which had to extinct a long time ago...

Sometimes back-ache begins as if prenatal water would leak.
As I‘d be giving a birth for some spirit unstained -
Far from it! Just two scarce tears flow down, bringing a lump to my throat.
No sign of any sacral becoming. No nimbus glows.
It's only a cell phone. The vicarious belched SMS:
'Mom, I got into an accident.'

'Bah, your blackheads stink as a rotten corpse! ' -
I used to hear these words in the same vicarious way when I wanted
My only darling to scratch my skin
In order to release the inner angel faster.
I knew she just smelled death which was treated by me as life.
She was the last woman I've loved. Ever.