Sta.sh
too long
i’ve held watch
over slovens in my chrysalis
rooting in my diaries,
in toilets
and in traffic.
i dream of razing their genitals.
if not for this ugly sycophant . . .
no,
if not for limestone
swept
into mud
how would i know
what instincts have been rewarded?
if i hadn’t made things
sacrosanct,
tree lines as noble architects,
a face, some godly panic
then i’d just see a headless corpse
some cat had torn
from shallow burrows
instead of this:
an Algernon
as still
and as holy
as
the flowers
that you left.
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I'd never read "Flowers for Algernon", but on checking the reference I can it was well used. It was difficult to see it as a funeral poem until the penultimate stanza, seeing as a societal parody kind of poem instead, but I guess there could be an element of that in their too, with how people can feign that pretentious mourn at funerals.
'f i hadn’t made things
sacrosanct,
tree lines as noble architects,
a face, some godly panic'
I really enjoyed that stanza
you should read Flowers for Algernon.
I shall try, after getting through my extensive reading list