Will there ever be a time
when the micro poison
you inserted
into the toe
second on the left
causing
the throbbing itch
to be the entire universe
of sensation
for this someone
who was asleep
but now
rubs and scratches
and contemplates
the beach walk
days ago
when you died,
my friend,
from my right hand swiping
you so hard
you were smashed to nothing
before I knew the source
of the sting?
You were so small
and trapped in a tight spot, granted,
between wiggling piggies
about to be
submerged in the warming sea,
yet you live on
with your mighty toxin
with the power to shrink all sensation
into a point
of pain and relief both
before the morning traffic
becomes another sensation
for total focus
in this waking body,
mind,
space, here now
and now
and now,
before Friday begins,
the first one
of its kind, again.
Life as Improv 