...
is not exactly on my bucket list,
still, I must plan for the unexpected,
not knowing when or why I taste the grist
of coffee grounds in my mouth on my bed
the gist of the matter I must accept,
even if I cease to exist, I sail
xebec from Algiers to Quebec, a trip
as old as the Vikings discovery,
crossing the Atlantic to the New World,
this thought has crossed my mind, a restless sea,
left to rot within our humanity,
yesterday, I was alive and except
on the grounds of my dismissal, to fail
no one except myself, I drip
mournfully down the drain, recovery
yesterday of a past like black tea swirled
blissfully with clouds of cream, I drank tea
until yesterday, I left the city
contentedly to dream eternally,
kiss the mist, this haze from a fog machine,
ever the drummer on stage tapping beats,
though no bugle plays taps for me, tally
lightly a lifetime of regrets, routine
inquiries to resolve all my defeats,
sorry I could never achieve success,
this much I admit and in death, confess.
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