These old teeth

When ground
Will be dust again

And how happy I will be

To shuck off this old form and its aches and pains
Things done wrong already and for always wrong
It can’t forget, just recycle and chew on the
Old bones of pain

To move on to something new
But the mistakes will still belong to this little me
This flotsam
This bubble on the edge of a wave

Lose particulars but not consequences

I can live with that

No choice

If death is sleep then why live at all
If death is sleep there are no consequences
If death is sleep do what you want

If death were sleep
I’d be asleep

Imported Comments:

Laurel Wingfield

You’re a talented poet, Francis. You manage to put across sorrow, regret, weariness and the feeling of being small and lost, very well. There is a lot of feeling in this. I liked especially, the verse that began, ‘To shuck off this old form, and its aches and pains…’ and ‘But the mistakes will still belong to this little me/This flotsam/This bubble on the edge of a wave.’