life
“Head of a Guillotined
Man” by Jean Louis Andre Theodore
Gericault
he listens for my heart beat
with his ear pressed into
the ink.
silence like the insides
of seashells.
this is death’s still life.
it stares
from hollow coal sockets
that once swallowed
the world.
his is a presence that
stalks like
clawing fogs
violent wrought iron
and granite too thick
to lift.
he spills sanguine cabernet
onto white innocent
linens as life
drains his veins.
verdigris skin slinks
against his skull
and his single tooth
makes digestion
difficult
because i too
have death on my breath.
it slips into my skin and
sips at my cells.
behind my eyelids
it is all black
and when we blink
we don’t always
come back
