05.29.2020
the comedy of mania
i tried to write a poem
and then I noticed
i had written the word
death
too many times for my taste
i scratch out one, two,
three instances of the
word
from a four-line stanza
mind you, I am not in
love with death
nor would I want to
invite it
i don’t think of death
too often
i don’t dress like a corpse
[christ, I’ve done it again.]
i do think of it
sometimes
some days, right at the
tail end of the cycle
i’ll think I’ve seen it all
[or feel it all too much]
i’m just so tired
i melt into sleep, my temporary death
then I wake up to birdsong
and my flesh devours the sun
once again I’m full circle, I flew, I dove, I died, I’m done,
for now, what a ride, thanks
for staying, I’ll see you next
time