tired monk tired

I know I should rise

(no grave can hold me down)

fight this (epithet) malaise

but this one is heavy

like wet monk's robe

soaked with lake water

too much 

fighting and fleeing 

wearing me out

past tired monk tired

ritual

brewing tea

morning coffee for the abbess

hoppy beer...in my daydreams

a pull

of whiskey, whisky, 

or Kentucky Bourbon from 1773

a last meditative puff

another pull

of a Benson and Hedges

J.E.D. March-19-1927 - January-30-2021

funny how it ends

...what's a better word for funny?

absurd (sorry for the language, 

but more like completely fucking absurd)

no soft "peaceful" slipping to the next world

or slow dimming of consciousness

more like hurtling

a head first hustle, just out, and gone

that's it

bit of blood on the floor

a grocery list

a new wheelchair

an old walker

no fine Irish wake

just a hollow Zoom funeral

anchor

my brother left

oh I remember that one

my mother left (so to speak)

at the same time

my dad?

gone to...long gone

left before I was even born, 

           and I was premature.

...so that's why 

I won't leave

I'm an oversized anchor

an immovable object - pure inertia

a monk rooted down deep 

right through the temple floor