Published: 2 May 2025

immortality

you must be far removed
from the world of life and death
to think about
immortality

there’s a lot we don’t know
about immortality
but someone’s going to try

when it does arrive
it will be too late
those who should have lived forever
will have died, and with them, the blesséd
past that most deserves
to live again and again

all of its limitless possibilities
before the making of enough
money to discover immortality
now, laments begun
the end of adventure over

long ago
the curse the gods
visited upon mortals
who would do anything
that the pain of immortality
disappear
because gods are invulnerable
humans are not

immortality should be
thought of as a disease
maybe a tragic flaw
no amount of time can heal
the only cure, an incapacity
to feel pain

surely someone will try

More Poetry:

Visit from the mother

Mother hummingbird,
pray perch on subtle twig of lilac,
wise to trust, or so I tell myself,
pirouette so I may admire electric green

River of paper

River of paper flows beneath my every word,
where would my thoughts be but for this substrate?

How Shall We Sing The Lord’s Song In A Strange Land?

variation on psalm 137, By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat
hands drumming on ribs, feet, the ground,
the mouths of pots and guns beckon,
the wind, the clouds, are the sight of sound
to the deaf, the foreign, the prisoner.
This bridge is the harp hung across
the tears of our sorrow. Each life

Everyone wants to love me

Everyone wants to fall in love with me.
I know it.
The guy in the lineup
who waved the cucumber at me
and said, I could hit you with this
was really saying he loves me.

what is it you don’t get?

based on psalm 83 ”Keep not thou silence, O God” KJV
if you don’t want to talk it’s not all right by me
I would really appreciate a moment of your time
as I am listening to more hatred, than those who
hate you can raise, lousy lizard heads, how they despise you

Related

How Shall We Sing The Lord’s Song In A Strange Land?

How Shall We Sing The Lord’s Song In A Strange Land?

variation on psalm 137, By the rivers of Babylon, there we sat
hands drumming on ribs, feet, the ground,
the mouths of pots and guns beckon,
the wind, the clouds, are the sight of sound
to the deaf, the foreign, the prisoner.
This bridge is the harp hung across
the tears of our sorrow. Each life

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