The Moya View

Tag: death poem

  • Death Mask of Ours

    Death Mask of Ours

    I collect the death masks of everyone I see, many ready with their mouths turned to  the earth, eyes closed tight in hellish denial. Except for L’Inconnue de la Siene pulled from the river in utter peace, lovely as Ophelia floating in the reeds, the resuci Anne of two centuries of death and resurrected respirations. Her…

  • Nun Sense

    Nun Sense

    Sister Dorothea would whack my knuckles with the flat edge of a desk ruler trying to knock some nun sense into me every five times I messed up on fractions. She had that well lived-in roundness the faithful get after hard years of serving Christ in the smallest crosses of existence. From the back she…

  • Bloody Disgusting, Absolutely Horrifying

    Bloody Disgusting, Absolutely Horrifying

    Every death is disgusting. Every death is not horrifying. – The odor of death makes everyone turn away and is thus disgusting to the core. – The important deaths turn the body back to the fatal beauty, the deadly stillness, – that was once the most important human thing of their life, – their death…

  • A bird flew out of my mouth.

    A bird flew out of my mouth.

    “A bird flew out of my mouth”, my wife said, when I busped (half burp/half sigh), an exaltation of larks, a pause, stop, dash; a murder of crows, (probably chihuahan raven, the way my dog barked at me and questioned mark her body, maybe reading herself in the onomatopoeia of unknown syllables); a dole of…