Book of Lies

Everything is on sale tonight,
but it's more expensive
than yesterday. I"m strung tight
between indecision & doubt
& each seems worse
than the other.

I'm poring over old books,
trying to reconnect
with something I once loved.
But all the words
sound foreign & false:
page after page,
the books resonate
like a hand slapping concrete.

Inside, I feel myself
trying to grab something in midair,

that's traveling
on a different trajectory.
And I keep reaching as I did yesterday
& the day before.
Rising & falling in the sky
at the same time
& never crossing.

The Beautiful Dead

It's funny, the robed monk says,
how you still try to make the dead look beautiful.
Abraham, with his flowing beard,
is back from the marble bathroom.
Those are interesting soaps in there, he says.
They're shaped like seashells.
The monk say: I'll have to check it out.
I'll have a water, Abraham says to the waiter.