i wonder what they would answer
if we asked the dead
on their afternoon in the park bench of heaven
"what is life?"

i suppose it would be the same
asking the bluesman blinded with lye
by some jealous hand who aimed with intent
"what is a rainbow?"

or a veteran
who's legs were melted by the loving heat and passion of his opponent's patriotism
"what was a marathon like?"

or a child
who's throat was burned
by the faith and trust of the learned men
who faithfully trusted the bleach in their drink to rid them straight to their gods
"what do you think of ice cream?"

but if you ask me
i haven't thought of what was before
that is no more
because i can no longer
what have i lost
in me
in living

well now, you bag of wind
what is death
for you are alive