Embrace him, he’s the new death, the
One we’re waiting on under this
Fecund fall of sweet dead leaves
And broken branches covering
Tracks into the middle before
Emerging out the other side.
Coffee’s on me if we make it.
There’s a Starbucks on the corner.
Death is an end of possibilities
and a beginning of all fictions
though the living often fear
reveling in this potential.
Good manners trump unabashed ego
save for the occasional syphilitic philosopher
or errant office “careerist”.
The edge doesn’t exist; it bleeds
In torrents as we hover like
Meat in the sandwich subjected
To physics and whims, dolor and
Perfidy, yet our claws, despite
Our gnawing still click clack where the
World stops like bullets popping
And reach back with the slightest hope.
The video buffers
What are you waiting for?
On your phone for chrissakes!
Everyone is tech savvy these
Days, like the man under the Route
13 overpass shopping for
A used cardboard box on his phone.
The best deals are online; they
Just drone that shit into you
Like you were Taliban with good
Credit, or no credit at all.