Poetry

What doesn’t go extinct – Poem

You have been the prophet

of riff raff, taker of long baths.

I want to get wet, keep warm—

grow like sourdough.

What’s it worth charting

human extinction

when these words endanger

the love we could make?

Floodlighter be damned

you will bask in shadow

or shirk-off the details.

One for many. Many for

no one. I’m still in the

same square of sidewalk

avoiding cracks.

In the vector of time

who matters most?

You speed buggy my darkle.

You preen my disease.

Passion is our pin-ball

machine (shoot)

where I quarter up, belly up

and go broke. But I play

in my mind when you’re

gone. You are my

anarchist accountant—

sell me something like love.

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