a carpet salesman late
after being lost on the interstate,
was not the best person
to be looking over my still body
as if he could flay the skin
from my meat and wear it
for a ritual of life,
the only corn was creamed
in a can somewhere in a cupboard
high up,
funny as i lay there
i would think of this
instead of some higher philosophical
thought,
book of swatches at my side
fumbling over cell phone
dialing nine one one,
why was i so aware
then again why i was so dead
and when did the moon appear,
six thirty the meeting was to be
damn carpet salesman,
i had died waiting
how stupid,
come on i would wake up
and realize i had dozed in the chair
the one my cat rebel would steal,
now i thought of the letters
in the draw,
but these thoughts
where slipping my body was vacant
was the brain going now
switching off to a dim point
as tv sets used to,
shit i hated being this aware
and i love the carpet salesman
for trying,
but my ex wife would know
those letters
of feelings i had
and would mourn me more than i deserve
the tunnel exists as does the echoes
this is it i am on the express train
so hot it was getting hotter
is hell getting ready to greet me,
closing internal lids of thought
pain wracked limbs,
cracking sound
last human thought as i left my egg
as a four legged ancient
with long snout and tail
slipping into the swamp
a new persona
a life begun anew
velvetmedia 