Prose Poem for Bill Peace
“Most days, as disabled people, we’re screwed…” (author)
Dear Bill—I’m green in my knees, green ribbed. I spent today alone with a dictionary. Sometimes I find words from the age before newsprint. Catabasis, a trip to the underworld…
The Greeks understood: anger increases after death. Odysseus’ mother was the first zombie in literature, hungering for a bowl of blood in the twilight of Hades. I fear the dead are full of sorrows. Meanwhile half the houses hereabouts are crammed with sadness and the strictures of fear. To forgive is not so simple. Dictionary: discourse, utopia, harmonia…Some days words are immanent, warmer than the streets.
Planet of the Blind 