Maboud Ebrahimzadeh

under st. peter

he lives— he breathes—

he rests under the eyes of saints and angels,

his neighbors crowd by the old wooden gate,

while impostors stand frozen in time in a controlled climate,

stuffed, clothed, protected—

idealized in shape and color by an artist—

one who overlooked the unlucky abstracts beneath the arches.

two curbs separate the dead from the living—

fluorescents, glass, and illusions of an ideal life—

passers-by stare or ignore by will,

in awe, or in hope--

who has the

d r e a m s

and who is living one?

curiosity, or guilt,

determines the amount of attention the man and dummy will receive,

though all—

dead and living—

will soon face the test of worth

before their life and limbs are dismantled—

or cast aside—

perhaps resting under a different arch,

in a different city.

if dreaming is living, then who is dead?