Monday, February 4, 2013

Pulp Poem of the Week

I remember that
the fresh earth beside the grave was brown

     and wet,
and that
the black coffin was shiny in the sun.
I remember that
I did not cry, but just stood there,
even when the men with the spades went away,
and then, after that,
I do not remember all the things I did that day.

     Steve Fisher
     I Wake Up Screaming

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