Remember

When you unearth a corpse and it’s still fresh, and you see it writhing
with maggots and larvae and nymphs moments from exploding into flies

remember: this is their home, and you’re as much a disturbance to them
as they are to you. Imagine the revulsion of a salesman stepping into your home
unexpectedly, on a day you decided, fuck it, I’m not picking up dishes
or doing laundry, or vacuuming or cleaning up after anyone but myself today.
That salesman would probably wear the same expression on their face

as you are wearing now, spade in hand, peering into the dark of fresh earth
pots of peonies and roses waiting to be dropped in, completely forgotten
the unexpected flash of white knobbed fingers, a deflated eyelid,
all those unanswered phone calls explained.




Just In Case It Is

You stand on the stage and look out at the crowd and you know
that there are people watching you right now that will be talking about this night
ten twenty years from now, it might mean something, who knows
who or where you’ll be then. Perhaps there is more honor in obscurity
more validity in an artist virtually ignored until unearthed so much later
either as a shoebox of recordings in the back of a closet
or under the tip of a pickaxe upturning your work’s final resting place

but wouldn’t it be nice if the people recording this on their phones
showed this night to their children or grandchildren twenty thirty years from now
have this night met with some kind of silent reverence
because even then, they know who you are?

So take a breath before you speak, make sure your throat is clear
there’s no phlegm or couch waiting to distort your words
This could be really important.