Friday, October 23, 2020
Home Cover When a writer dies by Ramil Digal Gulle

When a writer dies by Ramil Digal Gulle

when a writer dies

maybe the silence grows

just that bit longer

 

or darkness fattens

one globule more

as it turns in its

sleep, eyes closed

yet tearing

 

up in happiness

moist smile lifting

just enough to show

just a crack,

of sharky teeth

 

i dream of that some

of the time: think

each corpse, mentor

or friend, is a tick

 

or etch of black

analog ink

on the deadpan clock’s

face. i scent flowers

 

in funerals, in lovers’

hands haunted by

a hoped-for future

 

what came for them

comes for us now:

shuffle of feet on

wooden floor, step by

 

step throwing up tiny

gray clouds of crypt dust

no body no heart

wants to go—but must

 

as the son, the daughter

mother, wife: apples

red washington

granny green, sphere

of fuji:  all are eyes

now

 

all are writing

workshops

all are breasts

of lesbians

summer-warm

to the touch

 

to open the mind,

pry the purple

labial banana heart,

with fingers young

in merest memory

 

this, the last kick

from the last horse

 

and many things

yet to unsay, release

 

as a breath, as falling

leaf:  down, down,

down

 

the abyss, may we

fall with a kiss.

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