Decisions

One tiny ant laps

the sugar bowl, leaving me

in a dilemma.

If Everything is

Emptiness, do I still want

buckets of the stuff?

Buddha could well have

taken the money and run,

but turned himself in.

Song of a Suicide

“… reaching for the other shore
of the sea which has no other shore”
—Neruda in The Watersong Ends

The locks are on

all bets are off

the risen snake

runs through the grass.

Armageddon

and Judgement Day

how they pale now,

not in this class.

Two hands, one face

one sound to speak,

Time’s birthday lost

in history’s Bang,

turns to whimper,

cell doors closing,

feeling feels like

froid without sang.

As dead tree limbs

ache to drop and

swollen rivers

clamour for shore,

time to fall out,

shrug this pain off.

Hope? Not to be

sent back for more!

Rod Usher