#1024250 added February 27, 2022 at 1:56pm Restrictions: None
Morning Drift #black #death
I’ll be dead tomorrow.
Give me a ride aboard
your flaming craft, kicked away
from silent shore, adrift
wherever the tide should go.
Vacuous elements
in observance soothe a scene.
But absent, a shadow of soul
in grey-fog reverie.
I could die tonight
on starched-tight linen
where I linger many weeks.
Scoop me up in your arms at dawn.
Hope the sun appears.
Soak me in kerosene.
Burn me with oars beside.
Give an old tub purpose
first glimmer of morning light.
Singe my last hair, cast adrift
for any horizon until sunk —
flamed out, black ash, lead weight.
In hidden harbor, buried there,
I’ll be dead tomorrow.
No eulogies sung or needed.
1.5.21
1.7.22 and 2.3.22 edit
Made up while listening to Frou Frou in my Covid quarantine funk, day three.
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