Last Words

Last Words

Dickinson—a Poet to the end—said,
I must go in, for the Fog is rising, then walked

into the Mist confident
her Family would send her Neatly-sewn

Earthly treasures aloft
in a Final purge of smoke and Fire.

Nabokov left a cryptic Message
too, A certain Butterfly is already on the Wing,

and what Blue—Uncertain
—Stumbling creature, we can only Imagine. Leave

it to Steve Jobs to bequeath us one
last wonder—staring into the Heft of Distance over

his partner’s shoulder and saying OH WOW—OH WOW—OH WOW
as If he just then Discovered

the calligraphy Font to end all Fonts. My ailing
Aunt Mildred sat on her Couch—

Cocooned in air-conditioned Cool—outside
august Heat—listened

to her visiting sister, Who had a great trip,
then Simply said, Someday

we’re All gonna have a Big time
, and lay
herself Down dead.


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