April 11, 2025Poem
I feel it
lossnaturetimeidentitymortality
I feel it
In the down-deep
It is pervasive
A trigger word
The casual line
Thrown away
With little thought.
The fall
The splash of red
As flat as a gutted fly
On a windscreen.
Wash it away
Dash the carapace
Into the gutter
With all of the other
Nightwalkers.
A miracle
Of torn filaments
Twitching muscle.
Broken bones
Are the least of it
As the tortured soul
Lingers
Far too long.
Dangled in front of a flame
Melting in the heat
Grease monkeys
Dripping into the ashes,
Turning on a spit
Roasting meat
Rabbit stew.
The stink of earthly
Mornings
The death of night,
Cold dead skin pressed
And hung out to dry.
We are all carrion for the crow
What a way to bring about
A continuance
When the circle
Is a noose
Loosely tied
About my neck
And if I were to fall,
In good time,
I would greet the end.