The painting at the head of my bed
on a single frame canvas
depicts a triptych,
a faux three pane view
of the Blue Ridge Mountains.
This tri panel composition
reminds me of the way some Christians,
fuse their three bodied god into a mythical
singularity of mystical much.
My black cat
of twelve years
pretends not to know me
following my five months of hospitalized absence.
Perhaps it is the newly acquired wheelchair,
or the motorized invalid bed?
Why should he be any different than some old friends
whose calls are now noticeably less frequent
than prior to my paralyzing accident?
Or perhaps it is I,
too cinched up in my need bag
to reach out for a pet pat
or a pal chat?
I'm shopping for a good death.
I have an unknown, but finite amount of time.
But I've yet to sort and list what a good death may be.
Precipitously quick, and unexpected would be nice.
Clear head pain management would be a god send,
Saying personalized goodbyes to family and friends
I've read that 100 billion humans have thanotopically bridged that divide.
I pray that when the time comes
I end in the ranks of the top ten.