mdlxxxviii

     what i really want
     is to scatter
     my own
     ashes
               —CAConrad

I’m having too much fun to
pick the day I’ll die. Can
that be right? It’s Tuesday
after a strong Saturday
night. No ashes but a
ring of wires aching for
fantasy eardrums. Some-

times it’s creepy what I
predict. Or how creepy-
poignant it is to pick up a
page written some[times
an hornery] distance ago 

and then to experience 

its eerie resonance;

say, the day after a
nuclear disaster,
for example. Or

and I was dancing
and I nearly had...
a time warp? A
Rubik’s Cube
staring at another
Rubik’s Cube
in some sort of a
stand-off (or 3
Rubik’s...Cubed)?
Softer back-

pedaling and
less disclosure.
Or don’t sweat
the small stuff.
I’m getting
way too
serious,
lately.

I’m taking
everything
so seriously.