november 1: This is not the day of the dead

This is not the day of the dead
there are no dead
only those who wait.

I will not stand by your grave
will not place flowers at your feet
will not bow my head
nor close my eyes

There are those who clean up after you
There are those who tend to your gardens
And there are those who forget you once were

This is not the day of the dead
there are no dead
only those who persist

I will sort the things you left
will air out your memories
will package them up
and stow them away

This is not the day of the dead
for all days are living

We all move unhindered
We dance and sing our triumphs
like something real has happened
and wish through time that more erupts from
our pale volcanoes
than seems possible from our feeble lives

But buried in the ash
those who wait for light and life
made empty by our fooling
eventually wander off again
and search for something new
to do to make to burn to break

Under the head is a stalk of corn
Or no better
I rival the wind
You rival the earth
But I drive myself into you like water
or fire
And life is the blessing of orgasm

This is not the day of the dead
for all days are living
we breathe the air flowing through

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