by Barry Spacks
I wrote 206 words today, took
22,000 breaths of air
and released every one of them
back to the Commons.
I ate various creatures with my white teeth,
smiled twice meaningfully, 83 times for sake of diplomacy,
fell in love with my usual ration, 9,
and tried manfully to keep this letter brief,
and I nominate for Notion of the Week
the fact that death is perfectly safe,
you can give yourself to it with all your might
and off you’ll drift, unendable ride.
Plus also I washed the dishes twice,
managed to let 7 heart-knots slip…
all the daily stuff, cat’s dish, quip,
wending my way, Thy Will Be Done.
I remembered certain goodnesses, also
times I played the prick; endured
regrets, said this or that for no reason,
thought of you, and you and sat like a mountain.