I was one of those that forgot to die.
Cut out her eyes
to see what she sees!
Regrettably, my memory's lies
are particular to me,
and outside of me
are sounds without song;
dirges, dances, toneless tunes;
strangled birds, bashed in bells;
Cut off her ears
and we'll hear, too!
Now dark and deaf within my dreams,
the future fast around my neck;
strapped tight to the ticking now
and skin and bones from the ghosts I'm fed,
opens to what's unsaid -
not how do we undo what's been done,
but how do we profit from what's left?
And rather than answer,
I swallow my tongue
so you, too, can taste death.
For Kerry's prompt at Real Toads