the living

 
 
the ball field is
abandoned,  
grown over
with memories  
and the ghost of
children looking  
to play catch
 
the sky is a liturgy
and sings Stabat  
Mater dolorosa
to the moon
 
the streets and  
roadways collect  
the tamarind remains
of love lost and the  
sublime benedictions  
of the unfulfilled rushing  
towards self-immolation  
 
a blue man  
plays blue music
on his blue guitar
while Picasso  
rages
 
I sit with my
thoughts turned
inside out
 
sitting with my
cigars
 
sitting with my
bottle  
 
listening to the
music, watching  
the stars and  
growing dumb
with wonder
 
at this moment  
the universe's
stomach is empty  
 
there are few
possibilities
left  
and even
fewer gambles
to risk
 
the warm hand
of a breeze touches
my face  
 
all that's left now
is for life to kill
me  
and in this instance  
of knowing  
I have  
never felt more
alive