“What Do You Do with Your Notebooks When They’re Done?”
Those bloated bodies, stained & sallow,
tattooed like convicts—I consign their corpses
to wastebaskets, bury them under
coffee grounds & bills. I should cremate them,
but suppose their souls live on….
Where do flesh & spirit separate?
I leave them to be dropped from a plane,
scattered over field or landfill where,
finding no rest, they burn on their own
when the tire fire comes.