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Trevor Landers © 2003


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the tears drawn from
    the well of the eye
        glisten the plains of the face
  funerals always get to me,
    ever since my sister wanted one
      of her very own, sorrowfulness has always
         appealed to me...just as inexorably as Marxism does
  he speaks, the eulogy of love and tenderness eloquently
     -- all of this seems so unreal to me--
        inconcievable that she is gone
& I take a flower from the wreath
    and say, goodbye Karen, still disbelieving
       missing the corporeal, sensing the deeper.




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