Rick Bursky The Poem at the Funeral Spiritual

The ladders are failing us, even the new ones
Built to last beyond every apocalypse.
Everything’s falling from the sky,
What doesn’t fall from the sky
Isn’t worth being hit on the head with.
Just because something kills you
Doesn’t make it important. When I think
Too much my eyes begin to swell,
Does this ever happen to you?
Picture me wearing dark sunglasses.
Our suffering is a pipe bomb from purgatory.

Our suffering is the white drapes
Hung from heaven’s windows. We don’t know
We’re about to die until it’s too late.
If only we’d been created with a clock
Where the heart is. Scaffolding was once required
For a successful life. Now it's ruin
And prefabricated destiny, the craftsmen gone
To another world leaving me
To tap my toe to the sobbing squall.
Around us, the clay melts.
Everything is God’s fault.


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