Seneca, My Existential Detective
Poem By Travis Bowden
you're sleeping with ghosts and kissing
your pillow. lifing one finger to signal,
dear, Seneca for just one more round.
she says, 'life is a quality,
not a quantity. no man can lose
very much, when only a driblet remains.'
but diet pills blur, with whiskey swills
and you cough up a lung.
and spit it right out.
saying, 'what's breathing for me,
well, it ain't breathing no more.'