Terminal, a place
to wait for the ride – a river
hard and wide, come on:
juxtapose the poetry
with the prose – you matter
in the pan and the fire
and you matter after
(thus the laughter)
so quit picking at the bones,
toss me a coin – heads/tails,
the slice you find hardens
on a hard sidewalk in shadow
where the wheels wheel in
time and again and even
again all yellowed smoke
like scorched butter against blue
bruises where tears stain flecked
in pale remorse and I
grab what I thought was
a handful of hair but it was
just grass from the ground
where I fell unaccounted
when the door opened
from the other side
and let me fall in
like a man on a ride.

About caroompas

musician, poet, songwriter, day job toiler, political junkie
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1 Response to Ticking

  1. Bob Loomis says:

    Good one … under the circumstances … that we all face, some sooner than others. Still & all we have had some laughs, eh, mehitabel … wotthehell, wotthehell …

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