shot glass
"... brevity is the soul of wit ..."
- William Shakespeare

Tyson West

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Kirkland Cutter's Chapel Bells

Kirkland Cutter's chapel bells strike the instant
I pick up Pooka's poo near Mary's mother's niche
in a plastic bag once holding sweet summer peaches from Dirty Al's.
As mind plots our path to the waste can
worrying simultaneously my daughter's drama
forms of death intimate their approach with each exhale.
My youth dripped its pigments on canvas abstract impressioning
the brutal absurdity of my distant end yet with age, realism revives.
Sooner my microverse will hum no more and billions of bacteria
and fungi spores my immune system held off will ken Elvis has left the building.
My rotting flesh will carry them under the curved ceiling of a fire brick lined retort
all thought blinked out, plans dissolved and property I pretended I groomed dissipated
shirts and jeans and socks voyaging to rot in some third world landfill
while calcium from my bones crushed and scattered on semi desert soil
dissipates as the ring of a bell.