Inputs

Inputs:
food
noise
lights
colors

and I am
the factory
creating and
cranking out
more

noise and
thought and
will it come to
any end

will it last past my
own breathing

this is not my
denial of death

I know she waits
in every traffic jam
and every angry face
and every meal eaten
in a substandard
Chinese restaurant

I am not deluding myself
for I know the bells will
toll for me
and I will be buried
probably against my will

and I know this as true
as sure as the grass grows
over my father’s headstone

so every page
is my last one
until the next one

just like everyday
is my last day
until my next day

and what will become
of these inputs

probably nothing

except a legacy consisting of
scribbled in notebooks
and the world of possibilities
on the tip of my pencil.
art
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