Writings from Elsinore I Don't Feel Like Talking | Page 10

I am throwing rocks into the mouths

of the cave-hearted people,

who breathe mist and never sleep

for all the nocturnal birds

disturbing the trees. They are trapped

in their forests. I throw rocks

and never hear a single one

hit the bottom.

Wondering what afterlife is like.

Would we now yearn for radioactivity

or find value in toxic waste?

Would we finally understand the meaning

of war on terror, and would we feel it?

The terror. And the absence of war.

I assume there's no war in the afterlife.

I could be wrong. There could be nothing

after death. But if there isn't anywhere

for our minds to be carried over

into a sphere where they exist disembodied,

if our bodies and brains are just

analogous to computers and shut down,

no traces left behind once decay is done,

I like to think that our dead bodies

fortify the bedrock of the earth.

We may have no mind left living

to understand infinity

and we may have no body left living

to navigate our own path

on the earth's surface

but I hope that we do make the caves

and the chasms and also the castles

that don't crumble.

If all that remains is a cave,

empty inside, that's enough

to shelter a person the way

your living body sheltered your mind

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