A Real Concern

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A REAL CONCERN


But not so much that famous death 

as advertised: loss of breath, 

heart putters like a mower 

out of fuel, drool. Sure, 

I’m not looking forward to it,

anymore than—per chronological

nature—the next guy. What keeps me up

is rather exactly what it means to—

as the Rabbi paints it—die into a slow

awakening, and more so, how we know. 


Sometimes I wake up in no

hurry, take a long shower, scramble

a few eggs for breakfast, shuffle

back into the room to brush my teeth, 

only to discover myself 

still under the covers

cause this was just the outer

dream. It happens in what the doctors

call deep REM, when I'm all the more

asleep for thinking I'm awake. 


You see the problem here, I trust.


Take it with a grain of salt, 

then, and preserve me your judgment

when I suggest I’m coming to 

the gradual realization that

the dead are those who know

there’s always more dying to do.


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