dust

1

i will try not to live

and i will refuse to die

there must be an option

that is neither either or

 

i will sip the acrid syrup

coughed upon my days

and i will call it nectar

if it will offended the gods . . .

 

and this is my life done well

 

2

let the bitter tasting moment burn

i am reconciled to my fate!

there will be no parades

no honorific specials on tv

no a&e biography

i will vanish into the dust

that scraped my belly

as i crawled through life

chewing dirt

 

3

then we try to say something meaningful . . .

but in that same moment we start to grasp

that nothing meaningful ever makes sense

 

and we find that we are truly alone

with glib speech fertilizing barren farmland

finding that we are left with ourselves

dutifully milking the sweaty night

for a rusty pail’s worth of significance . . .