The
windows are opaque
in
death and even
when
the lids are open
whether
the soul is inside
we
cannot see to say.
And
the mouth –
a
sepulchre of missing teeth,
furred
tongue –
we
may have kissed it once,
but
it is now
an
alien tomb.
Blue-black
face, punctured hands,
stabbed
side; these are the attributes
of
the deity – living and dying
in
this body –
in
all of us.
Here while reading The Idiot. I like your poem!
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