When I die, sing. Fill whole circles of white dressed men and women who raise their voices. Let the leaves echo with your disgust and aural violence.
When I die, dance. Carve whole circles of smoothed out stone and sand which draw a sigil. Let the earth remember your feet and cadenced living.
When I die, etch. Sand out a multitude of sheer, black dolmens and obelisks that bear a sentence. Let the air endlessly caress the words and forever repeat the only truth I had while living: No one can be saved.Back to Poems