recycled narratives. all over again.
and again
the words we say with gusto and great conviction
haunt you again and again
surely you don't really believe them?
faithful anyway.

recycled emotions, all over again.
and again?
the emotions felt are a posteri of the encounter of the question
the question that the event posits
surely that particular event(s) forces you to response
it is the Other I have to deal with (constantly)

so I cannot use my words to express this a posteri condition
I have the emotions but not the words
let them then die their silent death
(if they can)
but the performance of death continues to haunt me
ghosts of the event reside, imaginaries but real
absences (and abscesses) that impose themselves till they collectively become an imagined presence (tombstone like)
such that there is no rest.
the dead cannot rest in peace.

When I die, do not let me rise up.
I do not wish to be dragged down,
after the ecstasy of the exaltation,
it's such a cruel thing to demand my renewed attention
to a depth that I no longer want to return
and still I return and return
not to meet my death
but to meet the ghosts of my deaths.
faith has better homes to enshrine in.