Saturday, November 12, 2016

Religious Observance

A few Lazarus hours spent
with the light and new air hurting you,
lying there sleepless, ashamed of your body,
brought a kind of pleasure, but remotely,
feeling less of it from a greater distance
without the flying of your heart
ashamed for breaking the vigil,
for drawing breath, but your life
should be used for more than marking
the grave of something once beautiful.

You tell yourself this then
slow motion wriggle your body
partially free of rigor mortis,
assisted by rum warm in your throat,
into something resembling dancing.

She kindly doesn't, but the mirror judges
you.

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