Meditation

Down down you go
Soon oblivious of the timer ticking.

An image of your brother appears.
The Pillsbury Doughboy,
The prodigal returning home to die,
And you neither his keeper nor his friend.

Now comes your sister, OD’d
On the floor of the SRO,
And the other one bloated and bobbing
In the currents of the East River.

You go to them,
You report on them,
You say, Sweethearts,
What does it mean that I’m still here?

July 2005

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