Guest Poet John Dalton
I died again last night.
Faded, like the echo
of a desperate fall,
finally escaping the high canyon walls.
Cooled, like love’s warmth
Iced by infidelity,
Now, gravel cold.
Drained like the blood
fleeing the fingers
Of an unclenching fist.
I died again last night.
Shredded like faith betrayed
By an ugly truth.
Toppled like the towers
Where concrete and steel
Gave way to blue and plumes
Of dust and flesh.
Evaporated like the last drop
Of the last rain
Before the longest drought of reason.
I died again last night
When the pretenders
Turned away
From the acceptable losses,
Collateral damage.
When the pretenders
Turned back
Raised their fists
Beat their chests, wives and logic
Like the droning drums of war.
I died again last night
To holster the rage reaction,
To break the hypocrisy of
impending expected redundancy,
To finally father all the wasted seeds,
To reclaim that sense of ownership
Stolen in the night, stolen in the morning.
Though I’d sworn it could never be done.
So, I died again last night.
October, 2002
John Dalton's questions:
Question One: Does anyone get this poem?? What I mean, I suppose, does anyone share in the sense of hopelessness and outrage that I hope it expresses?
Question Two: Is it too much? Is it to angry, depressing, intense? Or not enough?
Question Three: What about the use of concrete images, do they convey the deeper, or larger sense that was intended or do they distract?
Question Four: How important is it that I feel this poem should be heard aloud rather than read silently??
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