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"Haus of Whoa (12/31/15, 6pm)"
The teeth gnash – The body wails.
Tears like white water rapids
erodes words, the doomed rock.
She is my wife for life
but she hints that she might end it
even before her mother dies,
who is dying, brain first, body second.
She is my wife for life.
I gulp a glass of red wine and another
to escape it just this night
when my love is so tired from all the wailing and gnashing.
The fierce currents smashing in half the remnants of speech,
and they beat down on the roofs and walls of thought.
Her back's half-broken from all the gravity.
Her brain's like news footage of a flood carrying a house downstream,
and they zoom in on a pet hamster running as fast as it can on its wheel,
which may as well be a hamster wheel in an Escher-like environment:
kaleidoscopic and brutal.
But now she's experiencing a serenity
that can only spring from exhaustion then collapse.
She does not ponder at this time ending it all, in sleep.
I gulp a glass of red wine and another to escape it just this night . . .
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