at your grave

at your grave
i think of two things
first shakespeare, then plath
my chest pressed onto the earth
and all of its indifference
“i am, i am, i am”
is that where life is
in between the spondees?
between the stutter
and the affirmation
i am, i am, i am
my heart knocks at
a long abandoned house
is there so terrible an illumination
as silence?
my life a 60 year long dial tone
knowing no one but godot will take my call
“as dead as the earth!”
that was the first thing!
you entire to yourself as the
ownmost earth!
our deaths our ownmost possibility
people reciprocate and we anticipate
the they-self waiting all day to be told
she is loved before she can sleep
before i am as dead as the earth


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