Brief Rumination(Poem)

Mist in the mind
Or the guts in my egg
I eat in the morning

bestow me every day
an apple of regrets
to keep the disease of
certainty
away from spine

I was told
Man is a maker
Always a becoming
never a being
Always a dice
never a done deal

yet the scriptures
the air masses
the fronts
and a sip of a rose tea
want the same song

the bones want the left
and the boredom something else
yet
both manage
to
not enlighten the self

Is this life
meant to
collect just some verbs
in the pocket
and some nouns
for the grave

Why the question now?

this is not the time
Wait for the saline bottle
and the ventilator


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