Posts Tagged ‘Edith McKlveen’


October 30, 2008 5 comments

dance. the street is dark.
all the houses are closed.
all the inhabitants
are sleeping in beds of stone
with stones upon their ears.

dance and slap the dead
night’s atoms between your hands.
they will spin and burn fiercely.
some people will leave outlines of their hands
pressed into white-hot window glass
as they run from dreams to find a way out
of molten houses
kissing, wrapping round their ankles.

morning will see a hundred from pompeii
tracing your footprints in the ash heaps once gardens.
digging. they will lay you deep in the fine powder.
softly. no cry. they will fill your mouth and cover you
with the ash of their faces.

by Edith McKlveen

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