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The Death of Missouri

by Michael Heubel

Artwork, “Home” by Ashly Farley


Reeding pools of ayahuascan livery stretching out

And ripples in the water, little ringlet curls of motion

The guide that brought me here

Is long since laughing

Distant gazing on my flounders

Watches struggles in humidity

I’ve decided he’s a prick
[inhales]

[gazes into pools and ponds]

[gets depressed]

[exhales]

 

The uselessness of limbs devoid of webbing

In this setting

In a setting such as this

Is quite depressing

Thus I bitch

About my laughingstock predicament

Let’s predict my final hour

Recalling evolution leads us

Til we drop the reigns of carbon

And at last to leave the airways

I’m relaxing for the last time
“Oh god, I’m dying!”— oh wait, I don’t believe
Time passes,

 

a lot of it.

 

The spiderweb of teak and timber canopying elsewhere

It’s a distant vista visage

That my eyes refuse to focus on

And I swear I could have made it if I hadn’t been distracted

Curse those thousand tiny devils

Littered leafy on my path
I was worried I’d do something

I was worried I’d explore

I was worried I’d get worried

Splashing mire me some more

 

[sinks another measurement]

[subtle checks the instruments]

[the temperature is steady]

[pressure building north, northwest]


Published inPoetryChapel Hill