Poem: Dead Things

Dead Things

Your mind is full of dead things,
memories,
carefully reconstructed
from corpses,
each limb and truth,
posed,
forced into shapes
that to a stranger, look like truth,
look like the museum piece
you want remembered,
yet
to the discerning eye,
to one who has seen
these things,
now in glass cases,
when they were alive,
when their hearts beat
so close you could hear them sing,
then they will know what you
know,
that your museum is not art,
or life, but merely a collection
of dead things.

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The picture was taken at the Pember Museum in Granville, NY earlier tonight. You can click on the image  for a larger version.

Tom