Bristlecone Pine
There goes another body part
One I’d hoped to use to write
My greatest prose poem, “Sorry”
I don’t mind dying
With a cellar full of
Undrunk dago red
And it doesn’t bother me to leave behind
A wall of books
Purchased new, still unread
There’s sex acts fantasized
But never tried
Not yet, not yet
But if it please Your Muse
I’d like to be excused from death
Until I’ve writ
The last word I came here to get
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