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”.
A mix of words and fear balloons
In your belly like before school,
Now before work, excuses that
Swallow air, hold your breath, contain
Shame and worthlessness roiling
Like a geyser or a secret
Worn on a face you think hidden
As staring down, you exhale.
Inscrutability is a
Craft, not just a passion I say
Feeding the card reader at the
Parking garage, waiting for the
Gate to lift, a Midway con in
Reverse, like taking best of five
In tic tac toe against yourself.
Do you have any cash on you?
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Email. Please do not reply.
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.