is it too late for us to laugh about love?
I wish I were a jazz saxophonist.
doors close in hallways open.
nice backside, different kind.
life's vibrant, violent plumage.
recalls the patience of time.
my etymology is disputed.
for I kill werds with devils.
thrust me backward.
to live certain days again.
music my way forward.
to discover new treasures.
is it too early to laugh about death?
my own will be unsanctimonious.
and that is okay by my worth of heart.
while all this chaos has been ultimately happy.
especially with destruction.
rebuilding as seagulls sing the day.
keep going as a mantra for media.
I welcome the end of this poem like lunch.