The Chinchilla Carpet
The
harder the grasp, the
looser
the hold. Is it too
slippery
or is it just me?
Would
it matter if it were?
This is
what I was thinking
as the
ship set sail from the
harbors
of Puerto Vallarta.
And
this is what I think—
if think can be agreed upon
as
these occasional flashes
that
brighten an ever-expand-
ing
void—as I lie here upon
what is
certainly my deathbed,
my crippled fingers slowly but
spastically
scribbling down—
for you—this one last line.
