An occurrence is
slow,
painful,
rare.
Staid
like a bridge construction on
sea.
Hot
like leather on a sunny
day.
Fast
sometimes
like two drunks
fucking
and as
such,
all
consuming.
The pain steadies
then
numbs.
The rarity is emboldening
then
starched.
Until one goes
limp.
It is then cold; like
water
rushing over
rocks
onto a fevered
body.
A pack of
Marlboros
lies out in the
sun.
Fevered body’s
last
solace.
Ashes
exhume,
orange
suffuses
Ecstasy.
Nothing
exists,
life is stubbed
out.
Death
ends.
The occurrence
reprises.
