Now I’m alone
and the telephone is
the drone in my living
room, silent
but deadly-

calm before
the medley of substance
bruises and what sounds
like the assembly of awkward
clues leading to
the circumstances of a
fabricated death.

Driving west into
unspoiled sunsets,
I wonder who wrote my obituary and if
they used a spell

who threw out
my bread and found that eighty cents on
the stovetop.

I fought couch
tooth and
nail to leave a tip for the
Good Samaritan who feels the
imperative to
scrub my
kitchen floors.

THE poor, says the note taped to
my front door.

They deserve the
performance of
a lifetime, and that’s what I
gave my life

14 thoughts on “Alone

  1. I feel as if I’ve just been crucified. This piece…is instantly classic. Why? I don’t know. I just FEEL it… I know that’s lame. Bare with me… As I read through this, I couldn’t help but to be forced to come to grips with mortality, especially treading across this line:

    “I wonder who wrote my obituary and if
    they used a spell

    Nicely penned.

    Liked by 1 person

  2. I love the way you have formed this poem!
    The way it sounds as you read it.
    Quite interesting indeed.
    Favorite – “Driving west into unspoiled sunsets”

    Forever lost without reason our minds are our own – check me out!


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