Because
right now an evil cold
is
eagerly beleaguering my limbs,
I
find I do not have the wherewithal
to
spout my tortured existential hymns
be-spiked
with little coda jokes:
the
very notion of them chokes.
But
evidently I’ve
the
wherewithal
to
draw a head
or
two, about which
surely
you’ll agree
that
in this dank condition of Undo,
it may
be best
to
leave the rest unsaid.
I’ll
try to let you know if this results
unalterably
in Goodbye: “Guy is dead”
(a Facebook
memo) now awaits
the
faintest pressure of a fingertip
to whoosh
to you before I feel my final
breath
about to fly. Life is not so bad,
it turns
out, even if you don’t know why.
.
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