Listen to the world’s best poetry read out loud.

Yes, you are gone
and I believe that bodies rot
when buried in the ground,

though as to what happens
to living creatures
that walk their peripheries

in a distant town
I am helpless to say.
Not dead then, but distant.

On the occult telephone
your voice sounds
as oddly rushed as from the ether,

summoned by a crone.
I can add nothing new
to metaphysical conjecture,

I am no oiled and bound Egyptian,
have no name for what?s been done
here in your absence?s white kitchen.