by Ernest Hilbert on 20/07/14 at 9:13 am
Some lines of Auden bouncing in my head,
before I climb in, I shut off the light.
I become invisible. And my bed
feels cool and empty—temperature just right.
I like it cold. The emptiness means peace—
no fumbling with faces, no bad breath,
no silent, secret wars for space, for sheets.
The pleasures of oblivion. Yes,
Death is easier to contemplate than life.
Death is the ideal—the perfect State.
Everyone is equal. Man and wife,
gay and straight, black and white, we mate
forever. We grow fonder of the food
as time goes by. When dirt is passed around,
we say we love it: how delicious—good
for bones and teeth. Minerals abound.
If stars are somewhat rarer overhead,
nobody misses them. Now that they’re gone,
darkness is distributed among the dead
more efficiently. Pack up the sun—
there’s nothing left to see: no cosmic dust,
no cakes with little candles, no Zippos,
no supernovas. Light’s too dangerous
a toy to play with anyway. Shadows
suggest a world where different rules apply:
where monsters lurk, where so much is unknown,
where we could be so happy, we could die
exploring what is out there. All alone.
Original appearance in New Walk.