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MUSA UPDATES

Not a Moral Beauty Contest

One More Numerous Loss

by Musa Alves Guillerman

I was at your funeral first, a painful thing to do.

It was days before you died, and you knew it too.

There was no more hope, or Chance, only shades of blue.

They burned you like a piece of paper. A little book of truths.

*

I often visit graveyards of people I once knew;

This one in New Orleans, has decades of dead mes and yous;

Ghosts of secrets babbled, ghosts of makeout past. Pursed lips. Sunk ships.

Wreckages too deep to repair or grasp.

*

“Too intense. Too obtuse.” Glister vs. bister. Either way you lose.

Dead. Dead. The whole community’s dead, sister.

I’m kidding. I know there’s no such thing as family.

One mother. No father. Who’s hand is limped in mine clammily?

*

“Intimacy?” I remember now! Just some shadows pantomiming.

Opinions span my lifetime. Passing pain for jokes a pastime. Me,

playing “boorish,” “fearless,” “cunning.” Tho, they don’t have speaking roles.

Background characters in a life, or floaters in the eyes of beholders.

*

Slogging through the graveyards. I don’t see many I miss that much.

Better they’re there than here–– “god” forbid they get in touch…

•••

People still die on me, almost everyday. But it’s easier now;

I can alone and lively say.


Musa Alves