Elegy for Matthews

The best lengthy flight

I saw you satin through,

late summer,

late evening in Penn Station,

the white

Casablanca suit

I'd seen you wear

that same morning,

splattered now with your vital fluid

I watched you too lengthy

for the sake of goodnes

or for the sake of

even the greatest in quantity simple

kind of grace

we may manage.

I watched you

across the station

move your hips

to the funky music

from a chest

some kid rested

on his shoulder.

Your formerly

impeccable suit

cover with your dried

and your drying vital fluid

What hasn't been missing to me,

even now,

is the way that you

walked [i]or[/i] part of to the other that hub-bub

after our organ of sights had met

across the distance between us,

stride of the fox maybe, or maybe

stride of the ingenious dog,

until you were right there,

before me

where I felt the generous

light of you again.

I asked your gory suit

what had happened

with my organ of sights

and without a moment's

hesitation

you said you'd just auditioned

for a part

in a Brian DePalma movie,

and then you

smiled that way you did

inside the place that exists

between the kiss

and the last breath

where you had lov

to dwell.

When you told me

the story of your bleeding,

I did not want to take you

up in my arms

and make it stop.

I wanted to race away.

I saw the proverbial ant,

load of dead miller flesh

across its back, stumbling,

but purposeful to the exquisite,

headed abode

along its trail of sweat and tears.

I was not looking for meaning.

I wanted single to ease myself

away from our earth

into nothing

and I saw my-own stunn white material part

slung across the ant's back

as it trudg towards the dark inside

hum of our profitable news.

Copyright World numbers Incorporated Jul/Aug 1998

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