Love (this love) has left the room feet first— a procession of embers and ash. Illusions. Delusions. Damnable oxygen thief! So goes the stuff of paper hearts and fiery tongues, of promises—hollow—  past oily lips and teeth that bite,sworn, born to outlive names etchedon gravestones.  Won’t you kill me, softly, with one last kiss? Blitheful consciousness. Walking sleep. Ignorant bliss. Then call the shomer down the street. He really knows his Job. Rip the collar, drape the mirror, pawn the wedding silver. Take your soul home, rockin’ its funerary black, and the stone I gave … Continue reading Sitting Shiva by David Estringel