"It's about words, and words are all I have…"



Immortality is BIG right now! declares our

culture vulture Russell Smith in the Globe & Mail

Does he jest?  Or is this a re-invention of death with

arty arrogance?  Russell goes on to wax poetic about:

the value of death itself     I read recently too  that

Catherine Deneuve has paid seven figures to replicate

the scent of her 25 yr. old sister  killed in a crash  in ’67


The value of death is its power  if i may be so bold  its

magic   Our troubadour of boxes  urns  +cremains   What

scent would you pay a King’s ransom to replicate?  Your

dog’s breath?  Your husband’s inner thigh?  A baby’s head?

Brisket in the oven? (a fatty shetl staple)  


Scent of fear as you watch urn with sister-in-law’s cremains

placed in a cubby-hole with dandelions by a wailing 6 yr. old boy

who knows his days are now numbered   The wailing went on+on

Scent of boys tears mixed with decomposing clouds of glory  wafting

It is a fact that humans are immortal until the age of 6


The value of death is the curious feeling that everything is beautiful

You know   the one that you have at funerals  + the next day you resume

dreams of becoming   a drunk   a beggar     a holy-fool



born like this

into this

as chalk faces smile

as Mrs. Death laughs

we are born like this

into this

into these carefully mad wars

(Dinosauria, we   Charles Bukowski  1920 – 1994)



Spring 2016


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