Death is only one moment.
Death is prelude to nothing.
Death eradicates pain and pleasure.
Death is awareness.
Where to float with no physical conscience than
Down River Madness?
With not much conscious?
Is that without saying?
Enamored moment, shrouded time.
Clear as snowmelt vodka, so mighty elated.
Yet flashes of doldrum like I’m one of them.
One of many fickle co-partners.
Like they can’t help it.
Like I can’t help it.
Scrubbing away at sexy emaciated time.
I seriously doubt the flashes but they are there.
Bullshit pursuants and ideological nightmares.
Can I wahoo myself to death?
I’ll always have that.
The ever being paved flowing road of rocks and chains and gremlins.
I don’t want to sell myself short, so I pass unto thee a passing of passing.
Death, mind thee.
And a thanks for the effigy.