WAKE

Drip, drip, drip,
Each piece of me
Does drip.
And infuses the air
Of where I’ve been
Even if I refuse.

No matter what I decide
I’ll drip
And drops of me
Will be,
Scattered across terrain
Of where I’ve been,
Leaving stains
On person, place or thing,
Or marks as though I’m rain

Of pleasant prints
Or maybe scars
Traverse
The land I leave,
But whether or not I want
I’ll drip,
And etch the fossil stone

To make the difference
Good or not
Before I’ve dripped
To bone.


Copyright 2005, Kevin S. Charnas