The scratch of ink, the wash of blood,
The breath of lust and love and dust,
A wrap of linen (bed or shroud),
The tomb unlocked, a broken frame.
And past this list: a life in flow.
The fluid stains, forbidden pains,
The cold, external brush of god,
Who whispers to the pen: “breed death”.
And death will come, and you will flood
Your skeletal, yet swollen, grave.
The story of your eye encrusts
Itself, accursed, around your core.
The tale, the book, the heart, the brush.
The dead man, draped across the cloth.
After the artwork by Marina Kanavaki – viewable at:
http://marinakanavaki.com/2012/02/07/le-mort/
which was itself inspired by the short story by Georges Bataille.
many thanks to Marina
Gavin R Jones 
Beautiful words – really gripped me
If I could write the sound for whistle, I would.
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Gavin, I am overwhelmed!
Exceptional poem, my friend!
Already posted it here: http://marinakanavaki.com/2013/07/16/le-mort-by-thecheesewolf/
Have a beautiful day. 🙂
Brilliant!
Perfection!
very nicely done…
Like how you closed the poem out, a sense to it presence, and relationships to what held the moment.
The artwork inspiration was exquisite. The quickness of the poem mimics the flight of time in life, the absorption of much of it spent in contemplating that flow and that certain end. It is the unknown and the great curiosity that spurs the imagination to express its look, texture and wonder. Well done, here with all that!
This is an excellent post, thank you for sharing. AJM