the sound of death is bells
not the sound of dying, not the process
it's the sound of being 
the sound is bells ringing
unheardly, gorgeous, purposeless 
not a wail or wimper
not from mouths
but bells just bells
the scent the touch the taste
of lifelessness is not
scents, touches, or tastes,
not bells the objects,
not their odors of corrosion, their cracks, their ammonian notes
but the stark felt absence of those
in the stark felt presence of the sound of
death is


are you waiting for
is this all about
was it
the fuck
is the meaning of this
will happen

can it be
shall we have
do you want
have i done
would it take
is it
should i do

have you heard
did you say
would you like


on the way to the end
i passed a servant of god
we pretended to not see each other
but then i arrived and felt lonesome
and couldn't go back


you're working hard every day
each night you try to sleep by listening to the rush of working hard every day
so you can try to sleep every night


moon world forming,
midnight, foaming,
starts to rise.
the heart, grieved, forlorning,
stoning, with the sun.