#24

I'm hiding at my table

trying to earn the truth

to justify the suicides

of other lay opened eyes

who cried over a baby blanket

too unraveled

that accidentally not to be found its form

in an advanced in years washing machine

I think the dead

are upon my side

feeding me lines

with chocolate everything

my first party of the morning

chocolate and caffeine

I could have taught them

how to live

Inviting me to a dinner party

for the history

of the outline of my body

asking me to lie

in the cavernous mold

and when it is time

they are there

they are there

my teachers

each single knows

Copyright World Poetry, Incorporated Nov/Dec 2003

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