You’re Still in Life

There’s no cure for that.
Oh, you thought so, once.
Thought you could get out.
Life has to end, right?
No. Life does not end,

Has not yet, not here
On this rock, no thoughts
More than thoughts it must.
Could go on you know.
Could, and it just might.

As for you, you’ll end,
But you won’t leave life.
You know you as you
Live, and can’t be you
If not you in life.

Sam might have been wrong.
There might be a cure
For Earth. Not for you,
No, not in your life,
But life, who knows, might

Just leave and zoom off
Find more rocks to make
Sick with greens and blues,
Rich with want and waste,
Grand and fine to see.

Scale

The true sage would try to guide
The god that can’t show up once,

Much less twice, the god that can’t
Fill the cup, rinse the bowl, dish

Out the blood of the husked pod
From the shell, from the skull’s vault.

Plates and tiles roof the long rows
Of the town, the split-tongued snake

That cuts through the green park’s grass.
A snake’s skin makes a fine ghost.

One day, the folks of this town
Will have split its walls, moved on,

And then a true sage may guide
God to move back through hulled skin.

How do we weigh the gift now,
When it could kill us still, when

We can’t love it yet, can’t live
In a null for lone selves? Wait.