In this afterlife I should like
to shed rememberance of you.

My thoughts of you could
feather off in molt.

But how they stick,
this epoxyed pox of grey down.

Forgetness is to bald,
and I pray for alopecia.

>>lien on lease on life
in memory of Roger Gilbert LeComte

Fortune fattens unnoticed over time
and under the pressure of copper riches
impotent piggy banks burst spilling
pennies emptied in a final failure of form--

a tragedy for which pigs were, unaware, designed.
How swinely it would be to deafly trash
pieces of the snuffed-out snout that tries to shout to shoats
finding the faculty of forewarning

useless as listening through a tornado
trying to hear the quiet confession of a single guilty gale
whose razor edge slit a honey eater's throat--

a wind who convicted birds brave enough
to commit the suicide of flying to death,
who moves his lips and hopes like a mute to be heard.