Now that I am lowered into my trench language I become an invocation. I am muscles and tendons, a pressurized blood machine, slowly releasing what was stored between the apostrophes, like a captured animal. I am a cormorant of the apocalypse, a confessing nihilist. Opinions grow on me like frozen waterfalls. My rage is inculcated, ...
Last scene of all, That ends this strange eventful history, Is second childishness and mere oblivion, Sans teeth, sans eyes, sans taste, sans everything. William Shakespeare
Circle of Life
You too will get the e-mail from the hospital You don't know when, or which hospital, or if the doctor has been born yet, but it will come. The good news is that you can already respond to that e-mail, by giving birth to some humor.
These figures moving in my rhyme, Who are they? Death and Death's dog, Time. - N. Scott Momaday
Death is not my friend
your grave is paid until the end of the decade when a yellow bulldozer comes rolling on the churchyard gravel somebody is paid to do this, paid. it won't take long, they are discreet your stone becomes the pavement on which children meet or some guy commits a heinous crime and your memory is strung ...