Our rag-tag rituals,
We gather in bars,
Listening to songs,
Stagger home to sleep it off,
Creating community,
With wisecracks and hugs,
Plenty of hugs.
Our need to touch each other,
Embrace the bones and hair
Skin and muscle,
These containers of our souls
Warm touchstones, allaying our fear
That we will die alone.
I want to die surrounded
By my drunken comrades,
Singing off-key choruses.
Let them pass my body around the room
Until the last bearhug finds me
limp and unresponsive.
Comments
Neil McKay
December 4, 2013
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Pretty raw. Needs work.
Pretty raw. Needs work.
Clayton Medeiros
December 11, 2013
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Lovely start
A lovely and loving start. You might consider some Roethke as you work on it. For some reason his Waltz poem about his father comes to mind.
Neil McKay
December 13, 2013
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My Papa's Waltz. It was my
My Papa's Waltz. It was my introduction to Roethke. I can see what you are saying.