Marcel Aouizerate


Selfies of the departed


There's the upward look
Eyes rolling slightly up
Rimbaud did this in the blue
Antoine De St Exupery did it in the black
Writers not smiling as they ponder
What's next in line
Rushing for the stone
Selfie of posterity, crying inside
Future houses of the past
I text to you nostalgic
Let me be part of the grand plan
Oh that one is free and so is this
But I want to pay my way in
I call to you onerous, reader
Let me be part of your past
My plane has departed
I sold stupid weapons to
Deadly men, softly I text to
The stars and the elders
The next snapshot is me
At the bottom of the rift,
Holly spirit of Saint Louis resting
Next.
I came to Harrar and no none knew me
Says another in
The center of our galaxy
Smells like raspberries
And tastes like rum,
Everything I said is true
I was dead a long time
Before pictures multiplied
Of places I haven't been
Of brothers I have not held arms with
Of wars I have lost
Eyes rolling up
Of smiles I directed only at
A dark cell.

Submitted: Thursday, June 19, 2014
Edited: Thursday, June 19, 2014

Topic of this poem: writing


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