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Transcript of D
The deeds past of dead men
This has to be a dream:the drear of the cell,the dull gray of the steel, the hardness of the concrete. . .the things I've done.
There are times when I lose myselfin emptiness, only to finddeath and dying menin the grasp of my fatal desire.And sometimes I think about God:a monster borne of alienation and remorse, a being like me.These are the thoughtsthat I see when I sleep.
But this is no dream.The pounding of the broomstickis picking up pace.My face and eyes are drowningin my own blood. My headis flooded with pain,releasing the grief:that even as I die I know that my lifewill not be understood.
They will say:the death suits the deed.But the death will never kill the needthat I was.
keith m. harris(20 may 1997)