“Pete Suicide” by Ian Ayres

petesu

“Pete Suicide”

 

My revolver

So easy to get

Cocked in fist

On the way to the grave

Wide open for morning

Loaded and ready

Bullets to blast

My brains to the clay

Of Mother Nature’s womb

 

Skull full of stars

People that cross

Lost in a garden

Of slab and dirt

Hands from graves

Reach out to shake

Me up so late

Embalmed hands

Amidst the wilt

 

How I love the Dead

Putting down roots

Echoing whispers

By the time you get it together

You start to fall apart . . .

Skeletal, you know

A jaw drops

Moss will grow

With unknown approach

 

Living to die, dying to live

Tombstones scream

Or winds grow shrill

Among final faces

Of resting places

My constant family

Who embraces chill

Beneath my feet

Tripping

 

Naked

Among the Dead

To a bed

Where I sit

Smoking a joint

On that tomb

Sculpture of stone

Near a baby’s

Grave

 

A seedling

Alone

How I yearn

To hold you

Above

Your crumbling

New name

Eroded

Not even a weed

 

So I sing

A lullaby

And reach out

To cradle you

In my arms

With your rattle

Of bones

Watching

Birds Fall

 

Birds fall

From the trees

Dying

From disease

Wondering

Why

Death is

The rest of

Your life

 

Some call me a necrophiliac

Who bones the boneyard

Others, a ghoul

Who haunts the Dead

Whatever tickles their tulips

Licking dew drops of lust . . .

Did you know divorce kills?

Divorce kills children

For the rest of their lives

 

Under-aged children

Kicking the emptiness

Of a beer can

Can no longer feel

Superior over anything

Nothing but luck

Before granite claims

Years of avoidance

In unfulfilled hearts

 

Finding a family

Like me

In the dead of night

To dance

Headlit

In moonlight

Celebrating

Every vertebrae

Of our spines

 

Bone

Is white dust

And soul found

In gathering

Atoms

Ready to be

The one

In the box

Planted

 

To remain

Where

I can always

Be found

Underground

Knowing dark

Caresses

My mind

Listening

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