Saturday, April 16, 2022


 Poem #40

As soon as I finish this poem

I’ll end it for good.

Bullet to the head

Swan dive off the overpass

Swallow a bottle of pills

Or inhale the sweet gas.

But first I have to put this to bed.

I’d even accept something 

A few slivers short of sublime.

But anytime I get close

It always seems 

To need one more line.


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