[...]

You have entered the tunnel.
There is a light in the endless tunnel.
Every word you think of
has already been written
by you or others who skim
the spume of their seas.
They love to travel.
They love you more when you’re dead.
You’re more alive to them dead.
Resuscitated, you enter the tunnel
you’ve been walking toward,
marched toward, expelled into,
dug with your spleen,
the graveyard of your blood.
Your mass, excised,
clears your margins.
The passive voice
is your killer’s voice.
From time to time, they vote.
From time to time, language dies.
It is dying now.
Who is alive to speak it?