Sitting,
I was,
Enjoying the sun,
You walked by,
And said hi,
I thought why?

Sitting,
I was,
Enjoying the rain,
In pain,
News paper in my lap,
I let loose a laugh,
And shed a tear,
in Section B,
Was your obituary.

˙uʍoɹɟ ʇsnɾ ʎǝɥʇ ʇnq ǝldoǝd ʇɐ ʞool I
'uʍop ǝpᴉsdn ƃuᴉuɹnʇ sᴉ plɹoʍ ʎW

where shall I send my poems?**

to my eyelashes,
for they beat irregularly
unconcealed and unconscious
like my poems

to my fingertips,
where they are released fluidly
they grasp, strained and staining, tapping breaths
like my poems

to my smile,
fleeting and happy weeping fortuitously
a lifetime of a whisper, glimpsed and gone
like my poems

to my brain,
where they are symmetrically born only to die ceremonially
a fireworks duration evaporating into a rich velvet
like my poems

like my poems,
none will survive me,
blemishes, pockmarks, beauty marks, residues,
in a flash bang born, in a flash bang consumed

3:08am dec. 9 2019