C.E. Chaffin

On the Eve of the Mexican Day of the Dead
(or, "Not My Drug of Choice")

I did a line of coke this morning and felt strange
like a glass puppet moving through glass.

Light stung; shadows were razor-sharp dark.
Children's laughter separated into strands
as they exited school in blue uniforms
carrying orange marigolds home to their dead.

At my office I watched myself from above,
my brain automatic as a computerized monorail.
I wrote without thinking, my prose crystalline.

Is this what death feels like?
Moving without thought
like a glass puppet through glass?

Back home in a frozen panic of calm
I begged my wife to make love.
Though I entered her deeply
I could not incarnate myself.
I was clear yet clearly disconnected.

Is this what death feels like?
Well, is it?



C. E. Chaffin edits the Melic Review, www.melicreview.com , and teaches a one-on-one intensive online poetry tutorial for a fee. Widely published in web and print, he has two books to his credit-- both unfortunately out of print. His work was most recently featured at Tryst. Meanwhile he continues his essays on T. S. Eliot at Melic. The most recent, in the August issue, discusses "Ash Wednesday." CE may be contacted at melicreview@hotmail.com.


 

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