Words to live by

I must live
by my word

you must live
by the very utterances
that pass through your lips

we must live
by the noise we create

so don’t be quiet
or check your laugh
‘cause you very well may be writing
a lifelong epitaph

and headstones are smaller this year
for the touchstones of progress
have all but disappeared
fallen by the side of the way
a mass grave for noeveryone
who still has something
but simply refuses to say
what it is
and what they will make it be
how they will choose to make one another see
through the impending gloom
of a derisive physical presence
when in fact it is that very essence
that mode of projection that breeds the affection
the beast so longs to attract
if you don’t live such true emanations
then you’re writing a lifelong epitaph

that no one should heed
or read and submit to their own canon
imagine the melodies and metaphors born in your brain
which through practiced and deliberate inflection
you attempted to electrify and explain
so you bore them on your tongue
with gastric acid spittle
then bored a hole
through your soulless selfless poetic flesh
that shall turn to ash
and soon be nothing
sooner than loved ones should stop and ask
who is it that’s buried here anyways?
did they really have anything at all to say?

people, you can and must speak
from beyond the grave
through the reverberations you yourself make
while you are living
and also alive

yet no one will guide you
with rod and with staff
if you choose to spend your time
writing that voiceless epitaph

and yes, there are some nights
where we must be eulogized
to stay alive
and to realize
that we are beings of immense value beauty and wealth
to understand that our noise
is the only sound we must ever walk with

so you must  learn
to make that noise machine
a part of your scene
a piece of your brain and burden
and all of your means
‘til you can go baby go
‘til your soul is once more clean
like a baby’s
when you knew nothing
and everything was new
and all you knew to do
was scream

and we come into this world screaming
with fists clenched
then retire retreat and succumb
in muddled defeat
forgetting that scream
and to show what we mean
by living the very noise we create

I’m going outta here
the very same way I came in
head first
and screaming
with no need for a personal epitaph

I suppose I’ll leave that up to someone
with just a little bit more craft

Austin Bader
Copyright 2012

This entry was posted in Austin Bader, Chicago Poetry, Lyrics, Musings, Poetry, Prose, Spoken Word, Uncategorized, Word. Bookmark the permalink.

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