my body is unaware
that today is a holiday
it is new year’s eve 2013
therefore
i needn’t report
to the salt mine
but here i am
at 6 am
coffee pot possessed
as good morning gods sit resplendent
upon my altar smiling
the a.m. news programs
hold no special fascination
so i migrate to my office
having decided early reading
whilst the rest of my house sleeps
is my favorite preoccupation
my fingertips
blindly feel the spines
lining the shelves
i won’t look with my eyes
i want to be surprised
ah little thin things with staples
i’m in the chap book section
one two three
pull now…
…oh hell
it’s
his…
his chap book
labeled #13 of 42
well of course it is
now that he’s dead
i suppose i could
go ahead and read it
half way through
a personal message ink scratched
which has waited years to be read
between chapters
delineating
life and death
“For my sweetest of potatos. All my love. -X”
perhaps i should drop to my knees and weep
but instead
i think
he misspelled potatoes, really?
never speak ill of the dead…
…unless they deserve it
always ten degrees off
a fuck up to the end
well, at least the sumbitch
was consistent
i’m reshelving it
my selection finger
moving on to a lesser symbol of sin
to my enduring and beloved
Hester Prynne