eventually answered.
                    Supposedly, escaping

       our fate is as futile
       as tying balloon-bushels

                    to the ankles
                    of dead birds.

       After his death,
       every elderly person’s

                    younger self
                    now stares

       out at me, like a tabby
       on a windowsill.

                    I am a young man
                    but I already feel

       as if I have lived
       my life twice.

                    Perhaps all we are
                    in this world

       is a photocopy
       of a fish with legs.

                    Or perhaps all we are
                    is a live cricket dipped

       in honey, and placed
       on the tongue of God.

                    All I know to be true
                    is this: One friend fell

       from a cliff, another fell into
       a sea of heroin and Lexapro.

                    He wrote me a letter
                    from rehab that started:

       First they take away
       your shoelaces.

                    My lover holds
                    ice in her palms

       until she no longer needs
       to leave this world.

                    And my answer to
                    a missionary’s question

       Are you afraid to die?   was
       Yes.            But not today.

Constant L. Williamsis a poet, artist, and living human person from Los Angeles, California. His poetry has appeared in Words Dance, FishFood, Ikleftiko, and Paris/Atlantic. His poetry has disappeared in many others. Web
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