I sit outside of a closed library
Due to certain citywide cuts
This library has been closed
Since June which comes
Nowhere near explaining
To me why the *******
Pulled in behind me
So much for taking a ****
Off my back bumper

I saw a fella on the TV today
I didn't bother to unmute him
(Why should I? No one bothered  to unmute me)
He spoke of the seven ways to
follow The Path of God and I am
sorry but I lost the thread and
with it the general idea I'm sure
of this because I consulted my cat
on the bigger issues you see and
By the time we looked up
he or someone who looked
just like him- The Path of God guy-
was trying to sell us life insurance

since i was small,
i wanted to live forever.

every dawn is a hit of reality
and i’m eager for another.
and another.
and another.

i exhale, my cool breath hitting the air -
flavored with desperation;
is it so wrong to want more?

i wilt, only slightly, thinking about the end.

when i slouch in my chair,
i feel my heart shift closer to the soil at my feet

and i do not sink in the midst
of the flood -
i do not lose myself in the rainwater
pooling at my ankles -
i do not clench my eyes shut,
fearing where i will go
when i do

i need this more than you,
i swear.

and when i feel the back of the chair
digging into my spine
or the quiet, creeping ache of age
tugging on strands of my hair,
i resist; i deny it

the adrenaline of dawn’s kiss
is my defense against the rot,
but the night reminds me
of being small with skinned knees and a medicated wish.

i surrender, subject to the infestation of memory -
yet, my oldest prayer continues to echo
in every inch of this room:

sempervirens, sempervirens
(always green, always green)

It is in the garden of decay
where I learned about life
and how tenacious it is
no matter what the species
for example my brother
barely human by now
life lessons learned on
the back of death and
I think of a bumper sticker
I once saw, "Hard to ****"
No doubt yet being half
dead is an acquired skill

In a word, he is an atrocity

But consider this:
back to my garden where
miracles bloom even in
the stone cold of winter
A root has climbed around
A cocktail glass I sent sailing
in a fit of rage, in the dewy
promise of spring no less
and while hate raged in
the kitchen these two
singularly hopeless and
ugly broken things formed
a union that even throwing
more glasses at cannot tear
assunder

Well, tear ME assunder
why don'tcha?

Nope, being such a *****
has lost me that honor

Sincerely, Hard to ****

I.
They say mouthfuls
don't they? and if not
for such a collective
and vague pronoun
to funnel our singular
and specific idiocy
into, well! we could
hardly expect to live
with ourselves, now
could we?
II.
They say chivalry
is dead and just in case
the carrier of such trite
blasts from the mouth
is infectious we shall
****** him too
III.
They say it's the thought
that counts and I say how
dare you
IV.
They say now don't
quote me on this and
so I won't

O, now yes I feel the sun
on my skin and even, o,
now yes I feel the sun
on my lids (someone
has opened up the blind)
There is tea by my head
a lovely feeling here
in my bed and for
the first time (ever?)
I do not even question
it, not any of it

The ghost who attends
me has run off with tiny
footfalls, left me with love
and no feeling of loss or
dread or ruin (how clever
to leave me this instead!
how sweet and who knows
what brought me to my feet?
I dangle them over the side
of the bed, sitting upright)
I am wearing a cotton gown
that engulfs me even as
it frees me I am on a eight
hundred thread count cloud!

I think I might even, yes
put some weight on these
toes, test them out, maybe
run a few laps to the kitchen
and back (they work!)

I love you!

While I do not believe
in god I do believe in
attending angels

What luxury!  what a
lavish gift! to wake up
alive like this