Death is rattling me

From my throat to my balls

To my bones

When I wake up in the morning,

As I contemplate this space I occupy,

Drive to work

Or pick up some groceries.

It lurks whenever it is not staring into my eyes

And daring me to stare back.

The only time it is not threatening to lift me

Off of the ground

With one of its attenuated hands

By my neck

And dangling me over the pit

Is moments like now –

Reading poems, listening to music,

Pretending what can never be will someday be

And putting down the words,

No matter if they are the truth,

A pack of lies

Or somewhere in between.

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