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Facing Death

"Let me introduce you,"
Borges says in a voice
like wind chimes,

"Come, sit in the chair,
It's not your time yet."
(they always say that,
I think to myself,
to keep the children calm,
and we are all children
facing death)

"This will be
A preview only,
A test audience--
The way Hollywood
Tries movies..."

And so I sit.
And death sits in its chair,
And never moves.

Why not look it in the face,
Directly look it in the eyes?

With full detachment,
I note they are
Blind, white, and filmy--
The eyes of Alexander
Or Truman,
As now, not then...

There is a smell
I remember
From the bedroom of
A dying aunt.

Then my gaze averts,
But like a trout,
My head jerks back--
I see a flash of line
Between the chairs,

And then I run,
The drag let off,

And knowing well
The line will play,
And I'll return
To lay my seal of peace
On those dead eyes.

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Comments

( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
anselmo_b
Feb. 2nd, 2009 08:01 am (UTC)
Yes.
( 1 comment — Leave a comment )
Cydonia photo: ESA

This is the journal of David Ross
Your thoughts are welcome here

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