Good luck (escaping karma’s wheels)!


Death is a body, alive… on you, in you,

just you. You can

have it. Have the sag & drool &

fat and puss and “wish I was prettier”

“wish I was fitter”… frame

your ticket stubs.

Hold them dear.

They’ll let you

back into the gates

while I stay low

waiting for it

to end. Take it.

Have another helping.

And another.

More than you could ever count, dropping

in & out & in &… the fishes and loaves

are crumbcake

compared to this trip…

and to think, they’ll ask why

it’s my last go at the table.

Sorry Ma,

but I won’t

be home for Thanksgiving next year.



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