Death's Less Than Nothing

Death’s Less Than Nothing! Death’s less than nothing, a frail, not one welcomes or offers a cold one / a glass of fine wine. Death is nobody’s friend one might meet on this plane. Death is tasteless and dull as a weather-stripped billboard. Its smell incon- clusive and vapid at best, or a snowfield past freeze-dried. Death’s poem whose meter sports seventeen syllables, flip-flopping logic, ghost fish rot on boundaries, shadows ignored (with but little / no consequence). Death’s less than nothing and wrapped in conundrum, its glacier’s penguin that’s desert these days, and fine grit of a dust storm deluded it’s rain! Death is stingless, can’t win, for no victim feels loss, life’s pain’s touch, long gone, starlight’s blurred shadows eye’s rods can’t detect, Death’s the blush of a blossom whose pistil wants pollen, a virgin whose daydreams fall short of a wish. Death’s the fool of tomorrow (it loathes doors), a pauper to eloquence. Long Tooth May 7th in 2021