Link to click to read death poems which are part of the literary writings in the book called THIS IS A PICTURE OF YOUR GOD: A HUGH COOK READER

MY CONCEPTUAL SIEVE


The emphasis is water.
Flux.
Well short of death,
Rigidities
Play worm and warpmold.
My thoughts have fewer crowbars,
More opulent skids.
Ideas are easier,
Self-lubricating decay states
Feigning sophistication.
"Clockwork" rewrites itself as "cardboard",
Using my hand.
"Press star," says the voice mail,
Informing me
To use hash.
The cicadas remember
The habits of their lifetimes
For my benefit.
That being the case,
All is not lost,
Not yet.
I still know that all butter is not peanut.
That, of ice cream,
I like the orange chocolate chip the best.
All is not lost
While I can still recognize this leprechaun as my daughter.
I know that ships float water,
That air breathes flowers.
I know that coffee is a drink,
Not just a stain.
I know that Mozart is not a chewing gum or a cake,
That Bill Gates does not own Enron or Big Ben.
I know my name is not Giraffe,
That all the tablets white are mine.
I know
The telephone has numbers.
And know
My hands in number
Are significantly fewer than three.
The noodles boiling in the saucepan
Wargame the outcomes of my brain.
I will retain a tongue.
That's certain.
But syllables?
Let me get back to you on syllables,
Later.