Longer The Eyes Stare.

She said she was afraid of death.
He said, “Julia! You no longer lonely, fool.”
Her eyes are backwards eyes.
She beats not with a steady heart.
He queries questions to The Big Guy Upstairs.
He eats food from old folks’ homes.
He is saddened by the death of a friend-
No, doubt, from AIDS,

This is The Time of Pretending.
We pretend.
All things pretend.
Dark
Has come.
Dark fades.
Socks.
Are on padded feet.
The skin is white. Words fall on cold linoleum floors.
Fruit is poured from the skin.
The ground fades in.
Snow has come down.
We will go home.
Sometimes, we rise out
Of stormy weather-
We wish darkness would turn to the stars,
Turn heavenward, gaze skyward,
The family is not my own.
I am.
Monkeys breathe.
DNA is scoured and brown.
The pot on the table
Is full of stains.
I pick up the garbage.
Throw it outside.
The river lies, naked, in the sun.
I am not enraged.
I am not anything.

Colors melt in old stones.
Flowers fade on the table.
We fade.

All will fade.
All fades. Withers.
The church bell chimes.