If I don’t reach you
on my last day
before the grave,
you can protest here.
Nothing’s imminent.
Don’t blot mascara
with the blank
page.
I’m not the grandparent
offering water
at the border.
No aluminum blanket.
Your calls will be answered,
by Chet Baker,
in the order they are
perceived.
After the birthday
the death day
gets a turn
at the wheel.
Maybe future morbidity
is just a weather
report from
the ICE age.
I wish, and wish again
the meek inherited
some sort of love
the proud overlooked.
More at http://www.schmitbooks.com/.