Pivotal Questions
I feel
like
we’re all
dying
a death
nobody wants
to
talk about
robins
outside
wag their tales
in tempo
as leaves
tic
toc
on by
I
sit
here
and look out my window
and back in
at my window
and
type
and type
and type
as
leaves outside
just fall
and
fall
Where does
it go?
And why not
take me?
I start to wonder
if maybe
God was
beat as a child.
