I write or die;

not because skill

was born inside me

rather,

flesh, bones

even blood,

formulate to fail.

Begets a sadness

worth pity

which bores me near,

yet not quite

to death.

 

Raze me with thunder,

use lightning

to segregate carapacho

del espiritu,

blast boulders of hail

upon skull

that I feel the length

my husk enervated;

popping, cracking pain,

tap tapping

strained neuronal screams,

tom-tomming

random synapses,

a symphony of misery.

Grieve physician-statititions,

my loved family thirteen,

to please let me down …

 

…into

soft

ground

ending eons

turn-the-screw,

torsional  s l o w

drip

drop

drip

d

r

i 

p

 

of live

wise

use to be,

laugh with you,

hitting down the line,

burning you out

with my fast ball,

hugging kids,

kissing you...