While waiting
A being
not a fine wine
with popped clogs
In bright darkness
To shackle a spirit
Old flame of trepidation
In anticipation to peel
Dead tissues of skin
Fallen from the perch
of life beneath the elms
Still waiting…
six feet under
to take a dirt nap
Yes, for sure
in a waiting room
that being succumbed
I’m waiting…
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