as you need
no boots, coat or hat.
There'll be no limbs attached,
no blood
to drain
or air to catch.
Sitting as you are;
no rim around your Fedora or
carnation in your shirt,
no proud straight back against
an empty arm chair,
with no fingers to crack and
no rings to place there.
No strong jaw or romantic
temperament.
No reputation for being a
gentleman.
No easy way to settle
when
you've no legs to rest or
knees to bend.
And with no soft lip with split not on,
and no warm eyes unbruised,
there's no blood that clots to heal for them
and no need to stitch or sooth.
With no shoulders broad to hang
no suit.
No buttons to buttons
and no laces to boot,
and between these two
no cloth there to cover,
neither your right leg left
just as un as the other.
And so
sits empty
your invisible
chair,
inside your invisible
walls, by your fire of air.
Upon your transparent rug,
in a house no one made;
there you sit
with no body
at a table unlaid.
No comments:
Post a Comment