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.