Any last feelings

When asked, at death's gate
shall thee prefer to enter
happy,
satisfied, or content-
will you choose?
I'd like to think
when I circumnavigate my trip
I'd take a view of contentment.

Though a man I know
answered this hurriedly-
Happy! he bursted-
I doubted one would like
to die-then-
I said-As in-having sex?
He said he couldn't ask for more-
of course, he couldn't then-
satisfied
Lovers: Sex and Death (a taboo tryst)
are actually akin
to sacrifice for something
we knew
annihilated
to be-
come
a piece-full
of
you, like
All men.




Image of painting by Gustav Klimt [Public domain], via Wikimedia Commons.

The weight of the world

My pockets are empty, no rocks for my swim today
I am armed still with each of these quartered limbs

The rope swing resembles a gnoose, or a snake
the mongoose was always me, miss identified

Eucalyptus tendrils squeeze out mentholated breezes
calling the monarchs, two come to court, tagging up in streamers

Perched in the sappy pines a murderous row becomes a mob,
volume and black plagues grow from the chain mail gang

Humming while hovering over a well, the nectar inebriates
bird and bee still in recovery, stalling in their stupor mid-air

The drum roll of wind, corralling the dead, noting the tenor of leaves
swirling in symphonic disharmony, sloughing and buffing scales

Laser beams between tall pillars scorching the dirt, releasing the
essence, crushing the spice revives, in particulates burnt alive

The serenity of the lakeside: The tranquility of Tantalus
eternally reaching, mute preaching, still teaching all of us.



Image credit:By Extemporalist (Own work) [CC0], via Wikimedia Commons.