The first memory I have is of

Hundreds of blue moths

Trying to find a way out

Through the skylight.

After a while I began to taunt the fates,

To say the names of my demons,

And then insult them.


They thought they could save each other,

These phantoms that need to be

Put out of their misery.

Guess they were out of luck.

More like the disease of images

And cadavers after the mourners have gone

None to look at futility

Crowded by death all around,

Stripped of all mental features,

Inscrutable though hope be gone.


It was time to put this life behind me,

As I put the other life behind me.

There are those who leave a name behind,

Whose remembrance is as honey in the mouth.

What could be a more satisfying achievement?


In my backwards dream

I tasted the salt of battalions

As if the crazy house of matter

Scattered by robotic insect armies

Given machines that care nothing for them.


It remains on my tongue

Like the suffering beggars

With their stolen watches

And teeth like tiny pears

Who weary of the mathematics of illusion

And the interminable wrongs against humanity

Which is itself only part of the holy soul


On this the most beautiful day of the year

When the twilight has no end.


Spoken word version from Antenna.

Copyright © 2000 by Jim Cohn.