Strange, I just finished a longish poem the last bit of which
reads:
I hoard my words
clutch them to my breast
crumple them in my grasping hands
I wrap my words around your image
swaddle and cocoon you
until you disappear
until all that remains
are my words.
Proving yet again that when you have a thought the world reaches
out to reinforce it.
What words would you like to be buried with Teresa? Would they be
shredded, or somehow sequential? (My husband who has never wanted a
tatoo is now considering becoming one of Shelly Jackson's Words,
perhaps that could become a part of the funerary ritual, tatooing
words on the body...)
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