Don't Hold Your Breath...
Sometimes, on days like these,
I would that I were back in the womb,
yet unborn, yet to see all the
things cauterised by ticking time.
But then I remember that people like you
and people dressed in Barney suits
will all have such a slender audience
that wishes it could be filled, puffed up,
if only for a moment, with what we humans
call garbage. Because after you try
to fill yourself with beauty, you realise
all that's left after the hunger returns
are the ashes, the potting shears,
the finite heartbeats that lead us
far away from a place called here,
and into that hiccup named eternity.
Bon voyage on one poem closer.
Hiccup.
Landon Schettini
Ryegate, Vermont