the silent i

 

 

death is a murderer

& is under contract to life
for this purpose.

i lay under a blanket
prepared between 2 chairs
&
it was a silent i.

mouthing the words
“i am alone”
no sound was heard
in this
thick space
i was busy
traveling to a far away planet
where i would be in charge
of rebuilding.

i conversed with those
ahead & behind
into thin airways dark
overcast with hope
baggage had slowed them
within earshot.

my own sounds were at peace
in the green,
a glowing cast from
the overhanging blanket
in this, an amplified theater
meant for only i.

i was the me who
was cast aside
from a shadow
less body more
part of a hidden psyche.

i cut my hands off
&
let them to others
falling into my lap,
i was the i who was
motionless
&
at the edge of desire.

the future whispered
in my ear being upon
me attacking i
without movement,
a puppet with no strings,
this was an epic battle.

i could end the i that
was now with a
slow drip of breath
or
let the lived life
take me slowly,
either way i was
the suicide
like drinking in death
with shots of vodka
or water.

death is a murderer
& is under contract to life
for this purpose.

Mark David Jordan, 2011