Still Life with Skull, 1850
Not dancing, dangling-- stillborn bones stand still in a bell jar. The hourglass has been flipped, and I’ll cry over spilt sand. It’s endless what I can cry about: lust, thirst, thorns, debt, and death, of course. I won’t cry when I’m dead; a skull has no eyes to wipe dry. Little Jesus still dead on the cross is thin as a minnow. A miracle is every day I am still alive. Matthew Murrey Matthew Murrey: "My poems have appeared in many journals such as Prairie Schooner, Poetry East, and Rattle. I received an NEA Fellowship in Poetry a number of years ago, and my first book manuscript, Bulletproof, will be published soon by Jacar Press. I am a high school librarian in Urbana, Illinois where I live with my partner. We have two adult sons. My website is at https://www.matthewmurrey.net/"
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May 2023
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