Not Dead Yet

Not dead yet –

only one of my feet

in the deathly dirt

only one load of washing

nearer Marian-clean

only one crumpled shirt

nearer all ironed out

only one wax closer

to the white light’s sheen

when all is gone. Just one.

Not dead yet –

just a semblance of death

in the obsession with hygiene

just a semblance of dying

in eating repetitive food

just a hint of death

in fearing the unknown

just the threat of death

in every penny saved

towards a grave stone. To mark what?

Not dead yet –

as for death there must first be life

and for life there must first be passion

for passion feeds on living

and not on what is dead,

and passion mine has barely

taken its first breath.

Not dead yet –

just dead things surrounding –

dead house, dead paper,

dead yarn, dead automobile,

but I am not dead.

Not dead yet –

Just the matches, oils, flames,

Dead, up in smoke…

Maybe threads, papers, bricks…

But I am not dead yet.

I am not dead yet.

Not dead yet.