Letters of the Unliving

The present implies presence

thus

unauthorized by the present

these letters are left authorless—

have lost all origin

since the inscribing hand

lost life — — —

The hoarseness of the past

creaks

from creased leaves

covered with unwritten writing

since death’s erasure

of the writer — — —

of the lover — — —

Well chosen and so ill-relinquished

the husband heartsease

acme of communion

who made euphonious

our esoteric universe

Ego’s oasis

in the sole companion.

As erst my body and my reason

you left to the drought of your dying:

the longing and the lack

when the racked creature

shouted

to an unanswering hiatus

“reunite us”

— — — till slyly — — soporose

patience creeps up on passion.

while the exhilarance of youth

dwindles until out of season

and agony

ends in an equal grave

with ecstasy.

An uneasy mist

rises from this calligraphy of recollection

your documented terror of dementia

due to some merely earthly absence

This package of ago

creaks with the horror of echo

out of void

the bloom of beloving

decoyed

to decay, by the finger

of Hazard the swindler

The deathly handler

left no post-mortem mask — — —

only a callous earth made mouldy

your face excelling Adonis

Posing the extreme enigma

in my Bewilderness

Can whom has ceased to be

Ever have had existence

No longer any you as addresser

there is no addressee

to dally with defunct reality

Can one who still has being

be inexistent?

I am become

dumb

in answer

to your dead language of amor

Diminuendo

of life’s imposture

implies no possible retrial

By my so now-while self

of my cloud-corpse

Beshadowing your shroud

the one I was with you

inhumed in chasms,

craters torn by atomic emotion

among chaos

No creator

reconstrues scar-tissue

to shine as birth-star.

Only to my sub-cerebral surprise

at last on blasé sorrow

dawns an iota of disgust

for life’s intemperance — — —

“As once you were”

with-hold your ghostly reference

to the sweet once were we— —

O leave me

my final illiteracy

of memory’s languour

my preference

to drift in lenient coma

an older Ophelia

on Lethe