[031216-031223]
If I ever thump-thump’d
into your heart or your lab,
I trust that you’d squeeze me
for every drop I had.
Every breath I bequeath
is riddled beneath
the curtain of mortality,
the uncertain fiend.
At end,
cleaned out of consciousness,
no padding will placate this.
No lotto’s luck
will hold you in soul’s sleeve.
Prominence is jewelry,
illusory rule.
Unwrinkled,
we all look the same.
So when I’m bleating,
carry my senses in sympathy.
Embrace and take heed:
Time leaves you unfree.
Blood is aboil, in jeopardy.