the poet
plans her life's
end
by exhaust. the 67
cougar
let to run in
the enclosed garage.
the pill excursions
were nothing.
she leaves
no note.
no last call.
no farewell.
just the radio on
and the chug of blue smoke
as she sinks
into an odd sleep,
embracing
the next world
calmly,
at last.
Wednesday, October 12, 2016
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