Because,
frankly,
I’d rather live,
I let
the weird ways of confinement,
its repeated
the same, the same, the same
weave its own spell
till a confusion and a melding
creates a continous continuity,
its own circular commute
where
what day,
what week
it might be
is indistingushable,
a home becomes a planet,
its orbit
– a way of life…
But,
I’d rather that
than a cough,
and a gasp
and….
Poems by Ken 