One of my earlier pieces … had to wake up at 2:00 a.m. to write it.
Blue and purple nebula on black space background (depositphotos.com)
What if your life was at the bottom of that dude’s cooler?
Your eternity, that bit of liquid there;
You see it, rolling around the Styrofoam seams
Lost, wandering, this way and that way
Until it dries up, or the dog licks it
In hopes of something better.
You, YOUR life and dreams,
What does 10, 20, 30, 40, 50, 60
Or 70 matter … a century even?
Some live a week, maybe only a day;
Others lose count or don’t count.
They simply stop working.
It could be worse, right?
It could be maybe that muddy hole instead?
You know, the one your bare-child foot got stuck in
Back when you had hope and dreams?
No, better than plastic-type white;
This one dark, warm and dirty — the primordial soup
— A mommy’s womb — ;
The other bright, artificial and painfully clean.
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