Death is Flighty; He Can Never Tell Me the Time. Feb.20.2011

When Death sucked on my ankles

I fell deeper into myself;

Afraid of the hole that might settle there.

An eyeless friend 

who knows not what she does.

I fell onto a bench.

(On 14th st, you know)

Back on the street again

Dizzy

I sipped

Raised a ghost palm

too afraid to ask what time it was

Because they'd laugh, they would.

At my sagging eyes and pitiful mouth.

And would they have the right?

Say 'yes' but answer:

Would they have the obligation;

To make me lick the floor some more?