Next to the Bugs

If I die,
I want to be there
,that tree,
behind those
mountains,
in the roots.
Next
to the bugs

Chopped
but grounded.
because
Im not

those

sad people. Who lets an ax mark
shake
the pinecones
from them.

MY branches,

have seen
more
bird butts
then
needles.

I’m stronger
with it.
 

I will patiently
watch the sky
remind me
every day
that it
ends
in sunset.

Every           

thing,

ends
in
sunset.

Be sure
I’m surrounded,

by a pack of wolves
under that
movie reel moon,

when you.
leave me.

To watch the lights

Whip the lakes
ripple-less waters

The thing,

they don’t
tell you about

cancer

 is that the  days

between

“you’re sick”
and
now “well”
engulf you

Like a Sawtooth match stick.

who’s roots clung to the mud
 

one day.

But no longer today. ||

If I die

I want to be there.

Next

to the bugs.

Poetry Terms Demonstrated: 

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