The fates of mortality lurk coyly
in the bio-system of snails & men
never abating until the day comes
for corporeal judgement’s folly.
Then carbon dust covers rose gardens
leading to gates of smoking infinity
where all deceased specimens await
permanent cosmic enshrinement,
along with lesser annoying beings.
I decided to forego the experience
& continue inhabiting my psyche;
while driving thru North Las Vegas
dawn nips at mass murder memories
like lust in my marrow of cowardice.
Nothing I tried restored my faith
in lost denizens of compromised dignity
who now strolled down the avenues.
There young women wearing summer garb
penetrate the voyeur’s ogling eyesight
into a nearsighted appreciation of flesh
still alive on Veterans Memorial Drive,
where tented street people nestle
in blowsy improvised shelters
with their crude belongings on sidewalks.
Unfortunately I espy my missing daughter
sashaying there, like a social media tramp
destined to end up a lurid shooting victim
of the city’s next high-roller jackpot killer.
Sweet psychodrama of the morning!
I’ve unconsciously made a wrong turn
into the cul-de-sac of old hang-ups
that never die, & suddenly burn rubber
only to crash into a nearby flowerbed
of a horrified-looking senior-slum matron
with rifle upraised, firing the final mantra.