Suicide Note

I found a notebook with poems from my last exile. I'll be sharing some in the coming weeks. Here's one.

I just discovered a notebook, stuffed in an old computer bag. Full of poems, notes, scribblings from my first year hiding out in Nicaragua with my dogs and dreams, during the pandemic. I guess, 2019. I’ll publish some of this residue of my mind here, in the coming weeks. Currently working on a Berrymanesque work - tentatively titled “Drunken Ballads”. More on that in the months ahead. We’ll see.

Suicide Note

After a while
it’s all a gift.
Icing on the cake
you’re awake
life a lift,
money stumbled across
on a bridge
to nowhere, from nowhere.

It’s all extra
until it ain’t.
But at least then
in the knowledge
you’ve done and
been done to
enough,
there’s little problem
pulling the plug
’n watching the water
drain away
to God knows where
from God knows where.

And it’s over.
The coyote got the roadrunner.
It’s over.
The fat lady sets down her microphone.
It’s done.
Like dinner that you didn’t cook.

It’s the end of
your feature film
and you jump down
off and out of
the big screen
into the great wide open,
ready for your next
role and casting call.

That’s all.