For Lack Of Better Coffins In The Town Poem by RIC BASTASA

so many things to do
and should have been done

about these unfolded blankets
these scattered pillow on the floor
of a dilapidated house
about a door lock which does not
function anyway

everything is not safe here
birds come and go by the window to
the door

the night is sharp and shattered
like glass pieces of unconsumed wine
morning is not as beautiful as it
used to be
dawn is like an old dog, dying, smelling
like a carcass in Caracas

you like to go outside run into the woods
and scream and frighten the black birds away
you are a ghost of this present
and you have done nothing except to sit

by the window and stare on those hills
not faraway
you want to cut all those trees
that block the sun hidden from your face
your eyes swell and your coffee had gone cold
like some kind of dead dreams
still unhurried for lack of better coffins
in the old town where you live.