It’s all too much
the rush of the calendar
the dust of the clock,
blue skies and bare limbs and
a house that can only grow
colder, a name that doesn’t stick
on someone that doesn’t matter,
an argument that begins and
ends in words. They always say
you got to go for it, they say
you do you, they say live it
like the last day then
the last day shows up at your door,
champagne and fireworks and
all the fixings. You hold
your breath so close
it feels like love, it feels like
falling, like you could
let loose, this saved up sound
a shouting like a celebrant,
rending garments and
wailing— gone, gone
this one, never to speak
again aloud, offered up to
stars that never change
while we all keep counting
down to the drop.
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