A Poem About Dying

I hope it is very quiet there/ where at least everything is knowable/ or not at all. Just/ no need for curiosity/ or worry over meaning/ Do you understand me?/ Do you worry/ your character is not really main?/ That you will dissolve/ into the grey of the Rust Belt./ You wish/ your severe disability away/ then you’d work Uber/at least talk face to face.//

I burned all my computers/ in the fumes/subcame to a smoldering porn site/ streaming through my nose/ PAWGS packing each nostril/ my lungs quitting./ When you die/ it’s not what you want it to be/ you are recycled not redeemed./ You pop into the…



Poet; Quadriplegic; Rust Belt; Zen; Zazen; Pop Culture;

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