I've been
to the dead
for years.

The recently dead, the dearly departed,
the stone cold and the all-but,
the wish-I-were and the soon-to-be,
the grateful and the taken-before-their-time
come together on the level playing field
for which we are all, it would seem,

I have cursed these many dead.
I have praised them.
I have begged them and
I have betrayed them.
I have even laughed
at their once living follies.

I have spoken ill of the dead,
having become assured
of their silence
their long bouts of silence.
This silence of the grave
forbids an answer and for this
I have become, at last, glad.

All the same
I find I have less
and less to say,
even to the living,
from whom I have
honed my skill
to the dead.