this heaviness,
this strange feeling
in the chest, nothing
to worry about,
perhaps caused by worry
and mexican food
at midnight.
quickly i think i should
get dressed.
i should straighten
up the house,
sweep up the lingerie
left behind
by a guest,
and put the dishes
away, maybe write down
one more poem,
just in case that
knocking at the door
is death.
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