Everybody dies— what makes you so special?
The fear of the finality,
the sentence ends full stop.
The dot dot dash of the rampant heart
at long last parted with its purpose,
with the rest of the wreck gone
derelict, kicking and clawing,
spurting and oozing as
this vessel is abandoned. I guess
it’s all a little overboard, all
messed up and nowhere to go,
embracing the outs when
the ins have all run out. Dying
the answer written on the unsealed
envelope, the question another
Carnac gag, the incurious
portion once the pleasure plays
out of the nexts and maybes—
birds do it, bees do it, even
educated fleas do it—
we all bite the dust. So what if
you jump the line, take cuts
call it early? Anything to end
the pain, anything to beat the crowds.
The fear of taking the leap and
not making it stick the only
slowing left, still thankful that there’s an out.
