blue spotted tail

to write a poem
because
 it is
apparently
significant.
it may be merely
more manifestation
of
the
'human ego'
you desperately try to leave some
waste
a stain
like it is annihilating
audacious
of the earth to
naturally
 go on
after your departure.

but i too go on
and i let out a poem
because
just because i am aware
it is the doing of an ego
doesnt mean i wont be inclined
to sucumb
and so i exhale into the medium of space
around me
and try to catch one of the
left over
flaying little thoughts
and emotions


i try to dress her
into something
subtly attractive
the oozing starched old
washed out sky blue
polka dot dress i like
the beloved
so all those around would stop
to hear the breath that has come out of me
i
hideously
find this breath
especially precious
it has inhabited my chest

a breath i
in truth
inhaled
from the frightened
exhausted
quiet
exhale of some other




but right now
and
this isnt sad
or tragic
this isnt a loss
of any sort
it is just
there isnt
any distinguised breath to hold.
i have breathed consequtivly
massively
into nothingness
there isnt something to catch
and trap
in a the remnants of a dress
and say
her is my poem
here is my poetry.
i remain as i am
lovely
in theory.
but clenched and uncomfortable
and
unpleasant
to see.