Not Blame Your Pleasure

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Not Blame Your Pleasure

Because vision limits options, I close my eyes.

Becoming urges patience.

The morning after I didn’t die, I took breakfast in bed.

Arrival stamps the difference between waiting and choice.

Expectation, too, extends its squeeze, rendering sleep impossible.

I ride the bike and go nowhere, or walk steadily, covering the same ground.

Which will claim me first? An occlusion, gravity or unchecked growth?

Anticipation replaces one sigh with another: I have three falls from two roofs.

A friend has named me executor of his estate, and now the race is on.

The path to the void seems straight only near its end.

My ashes will one day soil someone’s morning.

ladder

“Not Blame Your Pleasure” first appeared here in November 2015.

24 thoughts on “Not Blame Your Pleasure”

  8. As a friend of mine always says when asked how he is: “Every morning I wake up is a good morning.” There are so many opportunities not to wake up tomorrow, yet here we are…it’s a sobering thought. (K)

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  9. This was kind of dark, but so true. We know the ends is coming, but not the why or how soon. It makes you want to insure that every night, when you lay your head on your pillow, that you feel you have made the absolute most of that day; since it may be your last.

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