ripping r.i.p

I know it is what you’re supposed to say
the a.u.t.o.m.a.t.i.c.
traditional turkey dinner elbow
reflex defense up
against
truth of the end that
you must never remember
and hide behind
commercialized thankfulness
for forgotten (but living) brutality.
I know it’s what you say,
a polite “I’m breathing and you’re not”
but I command you to be quiet about it,
an abridged cordiality
maintaining but keeping
a distance from the throbbing thing:
If you wave and shield your eyes,
maybe your words won’t follow,
or maybe they’ll latch and loom
and mimic
a silhouette of fleeing life
and puppet strings-
deluded
forward digression
driving toward
a point A
disguised as point B.