THE SWEET SMELL OF OBLIVION
Is always waiting—
wafting around
every corner.
What’s the point
of trudging along
with a broken heart
when your lover
has gone?
The tedium
of colorless days
is the same
as dead time
served in prison—
crossing off days
on a callender
with no chance
of parole.
I prefer the majesty
of a firing squad
to set me free.