What Does a Book Feel Like?

“Post-sex, pre-corpse,” as Dan wrote
Of Cole’s poems, I’m good to go

On as a mass of cells, spayed
As my cat, in my own way,

Prone to thoughts of death. I like
Life, curse that it is on rocks,

Since I like what it gives us,
Which is more than what it is.

I like where life and death touch,
Pre-sex, post-corpse, in the form

Of words, raw ghosts, trite souls, fools,
Wills left by wisps who are gone

But for their lines that dance on
And let me be and see life

For what it is, not a god,
Right now, as I breathe and live.