this beautiful dust
to which we return
floats golden
before my eyes
a dis-apparition
swimming at day’s end
reminds me of my
days’ end
leaving me hope
for a quiet drifting
in sunsets future
as a mortal reminder
to others

it was the grain of wood
that showed us there was direction,
movement,
to life…

i am
distracted
to death

maybe
distracted from death

maybe

i am
numb to death
just flip the switch
to let that electric current

stop…

let it stay inside
closed up somewhere
i can’t reach
til’ it burns itself out

in the meantime
the world will be grey
and i will pull my strings
with unfailing expertise

i know how to be
when i am not really here
i know how to smile
when i am absent

hang a sign on my door

“gone fishing”