James Brown is buried in Plymouth

When our ears are in different rooms
we invent conversations we never knew
existed. He’s buried where?
It’s like dancing with an octopus.
You have to be with him though.
I can feel my brain asking my mouth
to repeat a language not invented yet.
Why would I take a dead man with me?
I do though. Everywhere I go.
He’s not dead. He’s with auntie Jane.
He’s with everyone I guess; in the clothes we wear,
the records we kept, the calls we never made.
Jane’s Brian, he’ll get a discount to Plymouth,
he needs to be with you on the train though.

© Carl Burkitt 2022

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