Saturday, March 21, 2020

My Cemetery



.
Like New York it does not
wait for me. But when
I die I hope a friend
.
if I’ve still got one
will bestrew my
stash of ashes
.
through the iron
posts that form its
gate for me. Anywhere
.
upon the grass or mud or
snow will do. I love it like
I love this city - for its lack
.
of pity and its fine oblivion.
Obsidian and platinum must
be its favored substances,
.
they're what it would
be made of if it were
a pendant round a neck.
.
Black absorbs, platinum
reflects. Just like the moon
at midnight when it genuflects.


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