EG's 4/10 NaPoWriMo Lovely

BLOGPOEM W/ ELLIPSES


. . . fixed my car. Kind of
miss the dent, when I see
the anti-hole where it used
to be. Where do holes go
to die? Their cemetery
sure would seem a waste
of space, all those graves
of graves. Can't throw
any of the dirt back in
without crushing the holes
to another death. So no one
can mourn them again. . . .
I've started practicing
creative apathy. Can't
spend all day in transit
among various funerals.
Everybody's got the
same epitaph anyway:
Was Alive. Is Not. Tried
To Save Life Thru Not
Caring. Died Bored.