(Based off of a group of folks acting out Shakespearean death scenes)
It starts with him
Dramatically stabbing himself with a foam dagger
Losing his balance and falling to his knees
Gasping for air and collapsing
Then another poisons himself
gripping his shirt and collapsing backward
She stabs another in the back
Watching her go limp at her feet
Everyone drops like flies
Collecting on a dusty windowsill
But I remain
alive as can be.
It was so dreadfully hot the second night of summer that most of the cicadas swelled up
And died. I was suprised the blood didn’t boil down the street, But the river ran steady
Down Limestone.
They washed it off by three, the court house and I left our lights on,
Our windows stared with the same wide-eyed shock as meeting at the intersection—
The lights pooled in glistening mirrors, Abject love and terror blurred between lines.
It’s absurd, really—I had half a face of make-up on wondering if I should give a fuck.
They built a stage ontop of it the next day, crowds were dancing and singing;
It feels wrong to write a eulogy.
Who am I to claim a grief so unknown? We can only assume the same shocked
Expression—a hand over our mouth; pathetic, humiliating humanity,
Without words.
