Thanatopsis

(based on the poem “Beatified” by Patrick Gillespie)

Winter bleached and dry
a severed doe skull (with vertebrae)
perplexes the banks
of a Spring pond.

A philosophy major
I strive to see its living form again
but see only new weeds between
voids of eye and tongue. Green flies
thrum where once a scent drove ruts.

At rest the skull lies on its side
wreathed with rue and nettle,
with ichor, thorn and petal
by the years. I strive to see
its erstwhile form again

But see only a half a century back:
two girls with whom I skinny dipped
this pond, this day, this hour—their dare–
and only simple questions like:
“HOW DO YOU MAKE IT SO BIG!”

All which is to say
the more I go decay, the more
I feel my porn addiction
recrudesce.

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