Sans Dents

by Paul Mathers

That look the first time their aged mother

is too far gone to cover anymore.

Secreted within the arms of the armchair

the all embracing arms of Death.

The Romans had a curse:

“He will die an old man in his bed”

turned virtue in our winds over shifting sand

foundations on medicine, insurance, credit,

the furnace god into which we throw second infancy.

Our desire is for our antithesis

with antithesis removed.

The readiness is all

covered by the din of daytime tv and bingo.

Ouroboros life

to get from A to B

without attaching wisdom.

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