The Black & White Poet

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The Grave

The Grave
You know who goes in the grave?
Extinct passion.
Spiritless and dead affairs.
I often talk about the grave,
but you probably haven't a clue of what I mean
“Who died?” You say
“Old love.” I say
Sometimes I walk past the grave
And remember these former joyous occasions
And remember these former pitiful relations
I never murdered those who lie here
But I've buried those who lie here

I see the grave tender eyeing me
he digs another hole
and the death-fairies assemble-
plotting destruction
begging me to kill
for the first time

dayna lunstrum 2010

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The Grave