What if all our little deaths
are as beautiful as fall?
That somehow
to someone
even the savage that swallows us
wears on its face
our sweet aftertaste
for others to see.
Who’s to say a leaf whirling casually
to its end
doesn’t feel in its dry vein
the same absurdity as cancer
or overdose
or a broken heart?
It all reminds me of this strange dream I had last night
where I inherited a mansion
historic and regal
the smallest one in a row
of like majesty
but in the basement
rats were eating other rats
and larger rodents paced in cages
Still
all I really remember now
is how beautiful the light looked in the upstairs window.
Sobriety Poet 