Sunday, October 16, 2011


for George

In this world
where nothing exists
where everything other
is meaningless,
one should learn
to gather mint.
Notice the tint
of the setting sun
on a seagull's wing --
white with a touch of pink.
Accept that there is no link
between is and was...
and -- every loss
is haphazard and free.
And floating, atomised
in the void
you realize that
the tragedy lies
not in death
but in its senselessness:
whether you are shoved into earth
where worms dance around your coffin,
or are burned to ash,
it all comes down to one --