The Trouble With Dying...

[tectak]

The trouble with dying,
kept under my pillow,
evaporates when light
through my window
cracks the broken neck shadows
on the wall,
and abstracts what I cannot abstract any more;
until, the trouble with dying
is no trouble at all.


[i had posted this here before, but as i have recently read a couple of poems about insomnia recently i thought i would repost in solidarity with my sleep deprived comrades - note, the only edits made to the original are the spelling 'any more' (rather than 'anymore') and 'kept' (instead of 'keeps'').]

Hi, Shem, I like the title. It's a thing I've turned over in my brain my whole long life, I keep it as a stuffed animal on my made bed instead of under my pillow and call it reasons to stay alive. I look forward to the time when it is no trouble at all, that time just hasn't gotten here yet and my hair is gray and the dentist wants my paycheck. Still waiting.

NOW I like the title, too.
Best,
tectak