tired of

skirting the elephant

in the room

–I put it in the closet—

(it was a boy elephant anyway, a mammoth)

this required moving the itinerant

skeletons in wardrobe

(of lion, witch, and wolf)

which I shoved under the bed

–necessitating a need

to relocate the monster

dwelling there

and all its kooky crumbs

to my burrow

(a hole I’d dug for myself when feeling adventurous)

and full of socks

I’d never seen before

–and these I left…

hoping the monster

would

——

?

August is

sizzlin’ hot.

Hotter than

other months

& more intense,

it’s a sweat shop

–minus the

miserable mending–

those dog days

bake

–short on convection,

confection and

100x more elemental,

August is a sauna

all right

—but different.

more fundamental.

more consuming.

Even skaters

trade wheelies

for water

in August

–filling up the pool.

W

a

t

e

r

S

p

O

u

T

reAcheS seeDed cloUds

–POd oF pUrpOse

breAchinG

(aHeaD of wEatHeR)

cRoSSing bOws

–fAr oFf frEiGhter

tRaiLinG

wAke.

don’t Hail Mary

when you ought

Viva La

–Mary isn’t.

Hearty, more solely,

an aka dba sos.

Don’t sit when

waves should thunder

–stamping feet dealer’s choice, since sand imprints so easily,

so who cares about its clock?

don’t bury face in hands better suited

to applaud

–in either case remove your gloves,

and whatever you do…

don’t cross fingers

meant

to whistle

wolf.

 
I don’t fear death,

I fear missing it.

the end point.

the Period.

more relevant than the dash

–punctuated by racing vermin,

and very little cheese–

death is cessation of orchestrated maze.

(en route or not)

so many do–

–fear death,

and I wonder why. . .

a fellow traveler

without empathy,

I watch them struggle

from the inside out—

questioning the grip

that tightens as all else fails.

Death is the letting go–

the loose of mounting woe,

the good night sleep

that eludes–

death is ease.

Inevitable return to the source,

and quintessential reunion.