The Frozen Man

with my little finger, i scrawl this against
the few thousand tons of ice crushed up against me
from above.

there is at least one vein pumping in my hand,
a mad vein. a silly fellow speaking to millions of deaf capillaries,
who have all decided the blood is dead, and stopped.
but this guy just keeps going ahead and pumping,
pushing and regurgitating the inert, bland blood.

perhaps one day this message will show through, if the ice melts just right, and some intelligence passes by.
my death here, in this world, was quite beautiful and elegant.
it was in the dark, against loving, lying lips
and in happy arms wiser than myself. against the soft velvet seats
of a night cinema made for lovers.

it was also in plain sunlight, simple and curiously bright.
my camera vision, advancing on one of the most beautiful women i've seen.
she lay there, on the grass in an arboretum, happily asleep.
the kind of beauty the once dead could never bear to touch, and so
i just lay beside her, equally blissful with her presence,
and hoping she would touch me first. peacefully slipping away.

i have also died in some profanity and filth. i had always been taught
of the necessity for charity, and once been a charitable child. but
in a series of stupid and ill-conceived wars, i grew weary.
then, the needy became simple blurs, just unidentified streaks
against a background of the false kingdom i was fighting to ...
either defend or conquer, i cannot be sure anymore.
but i ignored the cries and calls for help, and just walked
past them into a sprawling jungle of concrete and taxicabs,
and died soon after, impaled by an accidental streetlight.

i died in several different countries, as a vampire. learning
just enough about their people to get by, with the knowledge
all the time that i will eventually leave them, once i had
sucked enough of their blood. i died in false charm, when
i smiled in affirmation despite my repugnance for the silly
details of their cultures. instead of relishing and enjoying
the variety, i foolishly resorted to the notion that this
variety was trivial and meaningless.

finally, i first died as a wild man, drowned in an even wilder
river. i had loved a woman, and a child, in our fine home in
a jungle, but they were killed also.

ancient boating accident. our family had strayed into the unknown,
to discover. i cannot see them anymore, though i suspect they must be nearby.
because i never seem to be able to move my head. (frozen).

this is where you see me now, if you do see this.
for i am very old, despite the youthful illusion the frozen river
preserves. with one vein pumping, one little finger ticking and scrawling
away...

against legions of stale blood and sheets of numbing ice.