How To Know if You're Dead
Traversing the steppes of the midwest,
without a heart on fire,
Taking in what the blackhearted sheriffs say
and gathering guns;
Punching away at shadows of yourself,
vainglorious postures of an ego run rampant;
Evesdropping on two giggling lovers
in a trailer in the rain,
and hoping for their demise.
Go, and lie in the leaves
fallen last autumn;
snore to the sky.
If I kick you twice
in the side
it will be confirmed;
I will confirm that you have died.
It will be the not-knowing
that seals your sign.
poem by Stan Petrovich
Added by Poetry Lover
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