By Chad Hollis
Just a few short breaths
Dust clouds as I die
I lay prostate upon the carpet blue
Feeling the itchy pricks of its weave
On my face, imparting one last bit of wisdom to me
Oh, how grand
The worn design looks from here;
The twists into the vanishing point
The loops returning to fall off the edge of vision again…
Like my spirit
Looping with ethereal trails and faint air impressions
Joining with the vast, otherworldly loops
I am loose inside now, all relaxed
There! I’ve kissed my last breath
And still the design of the carpet beckons
Its patterns wheel and turn, vanish and return
With what diminishing sight I still retain
I try to hold fast my eyes to the carpet designs
The physical representations of my fleeting spirit
of the promise of continued existence…
The cycle of death and life and death again
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