Respiration Without Him

Modern poetry modern verse contemporary poetry contemporary verse modern poem contemporary poem

Chuck lies, or floats, or sinks, or sulks, or waits

In ashes, somewhere, everywhere so far

As mind, the distanced mind can tell.  My weights

Of ignorance are like a black hole star

Collapsed inside a distant galaxy,

—Collapsed — so many eons — — — lost — so long — — — —

Ago that Nietzsche, not yet lost to spree

Of madness, could not comprehend my throng

Of innocences, blanknesses about

The truth of death.  So never mind the death

Of God.   Philosophy is just a pout

Inside a universe without Chuck’s breath.

  He said that friends are friendless if the air

    Does not contain each other’s breath; despair.

©  Phillip Whidden