Refrain

Circa Winter 2010

Refrain from speaking the Thing.

Speak around it.

This is the epilogue

of three hundred and fifty seven days

gone slowly into the dark.

three hundred and fifty seven days

bearing what must only be continually born

and if the next year is better

things will not be erased

we do not shed the past

we only bury it

or drink it into pacification

or fuck it into silence

or swim it into temporal oblivion

There is no undoing what is done

Nor changing what will be

it is math

We are responsible for it

Numerals acting upon each other

With precision

messy, irreversible precision

One can face

One accepts

but one does not heal or grow stronger

When the Thing passes redemption

When the Thing passes the point of salvage

What then

One can only triage the dying

to the quiet silent rooms

where they will not disturb that which might survive

I am disturbed brother

by that which is dying in the other room

For it will not pass quietly

And I much desire to speak with you.