the last poem i ever write

a supersonic plane crashed into my
bed as i was dreaming of love and
kisses. i went to the country fair for
milk and got run over by a coal train.
i was attacked by a rabid black bear
that dragged me a mile down the
road. my extensive teeth work
identified i was who i was. i ate a
a peanut, it was rotten and i died
from it, just like the song from
the movie “a letter to three wives,”
in ‘49. it could happen like that. i
could fall into a well so deep i
couldn’t see the sky. there is the
hunter who shot me between the
eyes thinking i was some kind of
trophy. i never seen it coming.
involuntary manslaughter. trees
are always falling in the forest.
should i be struck by lightning?
it could happen like that. is that
cancer crawling up my leg or just
a black widow spider. i could be
writing a poem and just drop
dead for no reason or rhyme.

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