spent the night
looking for pictures
of my newest
dead friend
trying hard
not to acknowledge
how the fetid breath
of death lingers
on my neck
realizing my number
is due to be called
any moment now
seeing just how little
a lifetime encompasses
when i have accomplished
next to nothing
a stack of unread poems
a million kisses
as yet undelivered
thousands of empty bottles
and a string of
broken promises
only the sparrows
will notice my passing
as they sing about
the wildflowers
i whispered every morning
and a vacancy at
the end of the couch
where someone once
sort of existed
amid a book of photos
i could not find
and memories of
happier times before
the weight of living
crushed a soul to dust
all while the absurdity
in seeking meaning
to accidental existence
is just an oil slick
on the cold coffee
for the roaches to
admire their reflection in
screaming my love
into the emptiness of
this life we live
together yet apart
lost pictures taken
in the annals of dream
awakening to this
consistency of despair