The Dead Just Do As They Please
Why must you keep these pictures of me
About the objects of your home?
About the walls I never slept within
About someone else's clothes?
I tread upon ash
I tread upon stone
I tread upon the water
In the fury and the smoke
And you would only look for me
Amongst the cold returning crows
And the black unquestioning trees
The living only deepen the proof of their shoes
While the dead
The dead just do as they please
Why must you keep these letters from me
Behind buckles and rust and the sounds
Of morning feet and the night's
Discreet rituals
The shouting and the whispering down
I crept upon ash
Half-shod and confused
The last defiant chimneys
Said "you never get to choose"
And you will stand ankle-deep amongst
The powdered beds and chair
I will dust off my knees
The living only deepen the proof of their shoes
While the dead
The dead just do as they please
© Brendan Bonsack
October 2011