deconstructionism

all of these words between us need to be eaten slowly
with vegetables and large glasses of water
so they can be swallowed whole,
 as swords and stones thrown
from passing cars like guilt flung
from long, neat subdivisions of glass housing

each of their letters will catch
as they try to pass undetected
through gills formed of lungs
stuffed in fishnet stockings
(like sausages in holy casings)
asking for their face to be hidden from the see through structures
who's naked emperors call for all sins to be burned and buried alive
and though
even corpses cringe
at the thought of these burials
(such sudden thickness between them
    and their view of the rest of the cosmos)
most succumb
to the pressure of dirty men
 who've shamed us into tradition

still, it is possible to remember
we are full of the dead's secret wishes
to lay quietly and
sink slowly
until the time passes

as much a sinner as i am alive
i cringe just the same as the corpses
but if you must,
please, tell them it was dirt
but bury me instead
in shreds of paper
covered in:
broken hearted love letters.
the sticky notes that neglected their reminder.
translations no one cared to understand.
poetry to gods who weren't listening.

tear the whole pages into confetti
do it close to my deafened ears
so i can hear each melancholy note.
i'll carry them wherever i'm taken
maybe they will finally find a home
or at least the way away from here;
opening stifled mouths who had been stuck
marveling at the weight of paper.



wb