Our Kind


women make you love life, he says, and that
just won’t do for men such as we. poets,
writers, fighters . . . such men have no business
loving life. we must all be a little
in love with death, in love with its breath upon
the backs of our necks, in love with death’s dark
and constant flirtations—a black eye is
death’s single rose sent to court us! indeed,

death is not life’s opposite any more
than hate is love’s; strangely, as with love, death’s
opposite is apathy, indifference,
boredom is the sound of beetles eating
one’s corpse in the oblivion of absence,
and that is where our kind are most alive.

David M Pitchford
2 Dec 2011

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