…After the fall (III) Might forgo…

I’m certainly not going to walk it off;
My leg is shot.

I’ve already tried to shake it off;
I shit you not.

We’ve our crises conquered;
But what if we didn’t.

Maybe it is;
And maybe it isn’t.

Might be a poem;
But then maybe it’s not.

Didn’t forgo them;
Just sort of forgot.

I’ve nary the space to shake a stick;
Certainly not for the lack of trying.

Careful to choose what’s left unsaid;
The lingering cough is amplifying.

Secretly, if I’m dying, I’m lying.


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