When I need something appropriate, to please
I seldom find satisfaction within my memories
but they’re all I’ve recorded, all I have as offerings
so I reject the past and look to present possibilities
Each moment is unique despite its symmetry
each thought, internal tug, lone in my history
That’s why when opportunity calls me
I record each word;
immortalising them all.
So it’s Day Four with no knock on the door
We’ll just see what comes out, no step and no fall;
No debate on which path to take, no care and no war,
No inflated sense of what awaits;
no, nothing at all
Just a runny nose and a stomach ache, and a pack of
cigarettes more, to be
consumed by the lungs that crave
a pack of cigarettes more
until they conflagrate and are sated.
They’ll come for me then;
Place still hands folded across the still chest
that didn’t breathe once more.
And my family, what will they see?
Who once knew me to be, so healthy,
So spirited; so alive
what will they see?
They’ll see me like I saw
my mother’s father who
recently passed away.
He was very old. His mind was decaying.
I saw them tuck him in and place roses,
coloured paper folded across
the still chest that had barely
breathed its last breath
The spirit that had barely separated left;
A wispy shadow of the soul I so loved
Slipping from my hands, my heart, my life
to rest above
Espy from the sky…
until my lungs have heaved their final goodbye
when all my moments have added up.
Day Four… there’s gotta be a few days more.