Bill Knott

(1940 - / Carson City, Michigan)

Cemetery


Who whispers here is forgotten.

Saliva's emptiest fruit
adorns the stones,
words ripening your mouth
to a spoilation
of silence.

Who speaks here
reads a text that downloads
the screen of his fingernail,
through which nothing's visible
as glass is.

For the memorial
we must kneel
to pick each flower
from amongst its modifiers:
but to do that
one needs a hand bared
of all uses, of all trades:
as ours is not.

Submitted: Friday, January 03, 2003

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  • S. A. S. (7/9/2013 9:35:00 PM)

    I'm a little bit lost in the cemetary, but the last stanza has me lingering as I read it again and again. (Report) Reply

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