THE WORLD IS MY WIDOW

by

It was an afterthought that brought me here


Towards the end of  another idle afternoon


That spits me out spent.  I made it


As far as the sofa  –  anchorage  of  undertow


And arid equivocation.  –  Awaking from a dream


Into another dream;  glimpsing the passing notion


That being awake, too, might have its pleasures, its rewards.


And relatively alert again, I reanesthetize myself.

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