PULL UP
NOT OUT
—a
Walgreen’s paper bag
“Who will be
the cause
of my demise?”
whispered om
inously, it
seemed to
me, at least,
the aether
from which
nothing
comes.
“I will.”
said, it seemed
(to me), the
entirety of my
kith and kin,
bowing, pray
ing, I be
lieve, over
my demise.
