empty minds

dying from a pornography of bilious suppositions

an incessant supply of tortured words

we collapse like fattened whores

drunk on the wine of debauched dreams

hoping for release from programmed fears

that hold us captive to junk food mush

coursing the cells of our striving selves

our wills flattened by laws and courts.

to live or be larger than narrowed whims

passed on to us by our gaseous heads

we die at their hands

by suicides hatched by the dim witted

a people too blind to think, reflect

having lost the truth of ourselves.

thus we gaze into glass coffins

hoping to spot the next coming

we'd life to be when discovered

when uncovered by studious researchers

buried with our empty minds

and they assessing who we are.

elegy for a dead ken

rush to my funeral

you would be brothers

come, marching in

bouquets in hand

lay them at the foot of my coffin

peer into the box

protecting my remains

speak your words of praise

while thinking thoughts of shame

i'll listen

won't budge an inch

fear not

jesus won't awake me

hand me back to you with tears

years to come

when you're free as me

buried with the dead 

neath stones chiseled with steel

our names etched and forgotten

we'll meet to fuss, to cuss

to begin again

learning to love each other

for once

*One of the points of the Adam story is that we are not born in Paradise.

-Fr. Thomas Hopko