Don't finish me yet
i'm not well rehearsed for my funeral
my imminent low...
before, the crisp winter wind blew me
each blow teeming with toxic spell
each breath...each flutter...
Who would thought i'd breathe the wicked poison
out of mother nature's breath?
Was it your fault...
Was it mine...
Was it...the totality?
As the burning candle continued to weep
I lit the lemon grass incense
hoping the healing aroma
could ease the befuddling inside me
my eyelids half close
and again I submerge to the torrents of my favorite songs
leaving all questions to the unknown.