—death is wordless
death of love is wordlessness that is screaming—
death cab! death cab buzzing around Union Square
cradling you (is your skin already blue?)
who stopped the clocks? who cut off the telephone?
was it me? was it god? was it IBM meaning Kubrick was right?
was it your dumbald decision of a provincial beatnik,
too many pills in the fist,
too many sunflowers in the bin,
too many clams in the purse,
too many lives for one cat
so you annulled them all
emptying your glass of fizzy water;
reliving
the way you slept with your socks still on
and I felt your toes curling next to mine,
your tooth-paste stink. your hard-on.
(when your hair was dirty it smelt like rotten rye)
your mother and sister and freddy the teddy-bear
probably cried
“nothing now can ever come to any good”,
the sun was high
that night.
—death is [blank]
death of love is [blank] that is killing—
that’s how I lost
my heart,
when I found it
it had turned to dead black coal.