Saturday. Sunday. weekend. Death

I die a little—each night i close my eyes and sleep

I die a little more

Night or day

I shut them eyes for a snooze, whenever

And its the end of me… for just a bit


 Yesterday i died, last night alone in my bed

….many many times before- with one or other, or none but me

For hours i always have lain there, in a peaceful rest…as is always the observe of those

that stand awake to watch me, 


How many more deaths 

Are there left

For me to die no more

To be no more

All the deaths out of me

All life finished


And they, those that stand awake to watch me lie

 will then call it a death, a peaceful rest

When I can no longer shut my eyes and die


Eight hours is a good average

I do two

Or three

To prolong

this no life

Every day death



There’s only like, 20 of us (?)…..19 (?)stand awake to observe… eyes falling out…

all death taken out of one us

a life slept out………


So many Monday Morning Bus Rides together, him and i

we both took the late bus…so many stories told to each other

” How was your weekend”- on the bus we started. ” How is Scott”- outside the bus he continued

                   Skiing, the mountains, the best snow this year, an exhibition in venice                                              home alone relaxing. moving to australia, a new book going well, a great hotel in Malta                                           Young African Artists, Andreas Gursky, …

He was older,  he was a writer, i asked for advise, he always gave it… with few little words

he never did say much, strong english Accent- for an Italian,  when he had the cigarette on or off, he never did say much, 

Today Monday, I didnt take the bus, he didnt take it either… He hadnt woken from his weekend sleep




Ps: i do not write poetry. only  lines of the rubbish that say  my rubbish as my head cleans out


7 Comments Add yours

  1. tumwijuke says:

    I’m sorry for your loss.

  2. mphoebe says:

    thanks guys.

    Last january, i wrote may be 400 words for the paper about death, this was my conclusion:
    “I know that we all shall die, but I also know that from the day we are born, we enter into a game of postponing death. And this is what is sad”.

    – but how can i know what is truly sad about death…how does one find the words…NOW YOU HERE , FOREVER AS IF… NOW YOU ARE NOT. FOREVER

  3. baobabs says:

    I sat opposite him for a year and he used to kick my feet all the time as we sat in awkward silences. When he spoke he told stories of his wild days before. He used to cry occasionally and so did I (emotional entanglements), but we never asked each other why and only recently talked about how we secretly thought each other weird with all that crying and never bothered to ask.

    He will be missed.

  4. phoebe says:

    Ciao Juliana: i love your site…i want to eat with you

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