five stages of grief: definition slammed

denial           oh the new-children write         what they’ve learned  through kalidescope classrooms     college  classes whose instructors       instruct them on art creation 101 or how to create art like your heroes     through their smokescreens of ultracool   they  mimick each other  stand  smug    thinking they have somehow earned the right to go toe to toe with those that they’ve worshipped      from afar    they know nothing of this grief     and so little of true life   

no , no no    i’ve come to hold your head       your hand    you didn’t                 wait

anger              now they sit in their hip little psuedo salons    chit-chatting about chess games  with the dead    trying to  outcool each other in their cyber  living rooms   mulling over his death  his work      his words         his suffering       his hell           like its something only they     understand and are privvy to    hanging over the carrion  of him       like flesh-eating birds  sucking the meat off his bones  before the     heart has barely stopped beating          the body is still warm and their excitement  of this  death   sits on their tongues like sweet candy      his blood- sugar      fodder for their next cool comment  or tidy little cool two-line eulogy         they  throw their cheap     insignificant       words about    like it sits true in their skins     but they cannot taste or feel   this    or know what its like to  be slammed repeatedly in the guts by   it    by death like    this          it makes them hard        makes them all a-twitter    chattering like mynahs about who knew him best  what he really meant   how they understood  what he was       how they and only they  the hippest cream of their ilk are only the most deserving to now         tear him up       with unverifiable tales     and oh, how hip we are how cool we are to have realized    that his date of death          was rimbaud’s date of birth   when the only remaining truth is       oh    what fools we all are         thinking we knew anything      of the man

bargaining           oh yes, timing is everything     earlier plans should have been made   throw on clothes     leave messages for work        should have jumped in the car and driven there    instead     of thoughtfully planning cheap flights and timely arrivals     it would have been in       time    and christ!      only hours        it would only have been hours and    someone could have sat with him   been with him to tell him not to be afraid   tell him that his life       and he     meant something          whispered in his ear to watch for and  embrace the light     not let him die alone  and    oh  i could have said          goodbye
 

depression       oh these endings    they are all dead    often i cannot reach them        cannot manage to conjure up all of their faces   or remember the touch of  hand -on-hand    hear their voices   feel   the curve of a chin    hear sharp words that brought me to my knees with      laughter       with tears   where are they      they have all left too young       too soon  left  us    behind       we  pretend each day  that we have handled things        have moved on      plowed through all these deaths         with magic tricks to keep us    sane       to keep us from slitting our wrists     from the overwhelming      incapacitating      sadness       of loss        at so young       and now we are old       and death sits waiting          buzzards on our fenceposts

acceptance     that serenity prayer the recovery folk repeat over and over       is stuck in my head   stuck like spinning tires or  tops         or an old      skipping and scratched      LP       accept the things i cannot change     dammit!        change the things i can      i don’t want to be left here!     alone        and the wisdom to know the difference     wisdom..what wisdom?   know this:  the denial is over, the anger has just begun    and is pouring out of me like poison     like the red blood that flows now      faster and faster out of  this aging      me         there is no bargaining for this life        no trade-ins      no do-overs    get it right the first time    live it and breathe it with every fiber       and be ready when it ends     and the depression….oh the waves that have washed over me      faces of the old dead       the young dead      the newly dead and the dead i still see in my dreams      those  i will grieve over again       and again until    its my turn          i am exhausted from the death i have seen      the missed opportunities   have worn me down    worn me out       worn over      me   broken me             i            am       tired      of this        constant      death  walk          that has filled my life         filled it almost more than life      has filled          this life

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About lindalou5150

as exercise or exorcism, i write...for the eyes of others, for my eyes and heart only, for the love and the rage, i write...to release the gamut of emotion...to tell the truth and say what's often thought but not written...
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