Dying is an Art - XI.XI.(Punch Out)I worked there forforever.(I don't rememberthe real time anymore.)And in a way, I stillwork there. I will beback, and they arestill waiting.They, the ones thatI love more than Ican describe, thebrothers and sistersand aunts that I havegained.Still reaching out,still calling when itisn't a good time becausethere is no other time.Do you remember when we laughed?Do you remember the plate and thepizza and the zucchini bread and thesongs and the kid that was high withbleeding knuckles that scared you?I do.I do, now and tomorrow.Let's so this again sometime,let's make somethingamazing.You are still my family,my farm. Let's grow somethingnew.
Dying is an Art - X.X.(Sister)We weren'talways together.We weren'talways happy.We weren'talways talking.We werealways sisters,though.I was still at campthe day that youleft. I saw you fora short time andreturned to a room that was vacant,hollowed and cold.OneI cried.ThreeI cried.FourteenI cried.I still couldn't forget you.If it keeps on rainin'The levee's goin' to break.I don't know when it stoppedhurting, but I remember thatyou told me we would alwayskeep in touch, we would alwayskeep in touch.I hope it's always true.Don't lie to me.When the levee breaks,We'll have no place to stay.
Dying is an Art - IX.IX.(Babble)Rhyme and rhythmdo not define me. Idefine them as I please.I shine a light on themwhen I need, tucked inthe corners of the attic.I reach into my skull,poking at my throbbingbrain and plucking outwhat I need.DyingIs an art, like everything else.I unravel myself, untying eachmemorial knot in my headand reassembling them oncrisp pages.I do it exceptionally well.I do it so it feels like hell.It is amazinghow real and raw andrevealing a person can be. Language is the door. Language is the key.
Dying is an Art - VIII.VIII.(Call It Home)While we moved fromhouse to house,apartment to apartment,the residents of my headchanged, too.I didn't see the LittleLights leaving, nordid I see the Treestraipse in so silently.I wanted to understand,to label and box away andsmile without question(just as I had before).that would be too easy too easy too easy!For years afterI lit candles anddanced in circles to Yourrhythm, feeling the Moonand the Sun and the Treesinside of me. But I made amistake, falsely blendingwhat I had left behindwith You.Then the time came,and the Trees moved out,too. I mourned them, butthis time, their Brothersand Sisters showed up.I still hear them, theechoes of the Trees.Except, this time I don't justlisten to them -- this time,I put them u