No I do not want everlasting life
to be condemned to forever here
on this wasted earth no merci messieurs
unlike the Struldbruggs hailed all the way
from the island-nation of Luggnagg
discovered at the end of Book Three
of Jonathan Swift’s Gulliver’s Travels
older than the seasons and deemed
past death by mortals the Struldbruggs
meaning “stir my dull blood” are easily
identifiable by a black circle on their foreheads
prone to all sorts of sicknesses
deformities and sadness they grow
envious whenever a funeral cortege
stops to taunt them and all they can do is die
and die again and again without dying
though language and memory are
the only parts about them that do die
and the sooner the remembering goes the better
because happiness and contentment
to this race of archipelagic immortals
can only be achieved via forgetfulness
and complete silence without end.
R. Zamora Linmark’s latest poetry collection is Pop Vérité. He currently divides his home between Honolulu and Manila.
