Tuesday, 01 September 2009

PRIVATE WORDS 

“What are you doing?” –
“Just prutting.” 

“I couldn’t wear it –
It made me feel all bouffly.” 

When you both departed,
The words you owned went with you –
Private,
Self-invented,
Not in any book. 

They’re gone for good now,
Just as you are. 

I wish I could employ
The usual formulations:
Passed on,
Passed over,
Gone before. 

I can’t summon you
Even by repeating your own phrases. 

For you,
For me,
Those words are void of meaning. 

Dead is dead.
Dead is dead.