This is an odd poem. I've been stuck on this theme of what I'll be thinking about when I die and the wonder that I'm alive in the first place. This poem actually has some good elements in it, not just words put together like most of the others.

"Blank Disintegrates" (#33)
Blank diagonal lines
spiral spin to Death Valley.
I'm sleeping with an
ad under my pillow.
Sparkle disintegrates
from my fingernails.
The long gone taste of
popsicle is on my tongue.

I smile.

I don't know how I
got here, with things
standing as they are.
Why do I yearn for more?
A child's drawing
falls through the cracks.
I'm not dead, and
it doesn't mean a thing.

I smile, though I
may die tomorrow.
How I will arrive
at death, what
circumstances bring
me there?
I scratch my skin
with a broken nail.
Run my hand along
the wall.

I don't know how I
got here, undead.
But I'm alive, though
it doesn't mean a thing.

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