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Checking Out

I'm not here
any longer
its the wind
I'm the wind
those too familiar sounds through my ears
I'm not here

I'm checking out
so silent
as to go unseen

the one wearing
dull green
and dull brown
a mixture of earth
so I might be stepped around

I'm not here
I'm checking out
so silent
as to go unseen

not the usual tactic
being quiet
so the monsters avoid me
at last

the past
not in this moment
the past no longer adheres to me
tightly and fast

I thought I preferred
but attention fades
and is eaten up
by the Mass
my silence is
the new re-invention
my lease here has lapsed

I'm not here
I'm checking out
so silent
as to go unseen

taking up space takes more talent
than any talent
I've been deemed

I'm going back into the earth
to the brown
to the dirt-nap
with the grass and the weeds

a-mixed with
the un-sightlies,
the un-seemlies,
the shriveled,
the dried-up
the un-green

I'm checking out
the white out's tipped over
the silence of my experiment
has granted me
sweet invisibility

so silence
is the Never-never
not again
to be seen
go ask the Doorman,
ask the Night Manager,
ask the Cabbie
who always wore the same dirty jeans

So quiet becomes the Grave
as to be all that is unseen.

Legal Copyright for this Poem 8:35pm PST 4/8/2019
and also for this Poet Melissa A. Howells
and also for this legally copyrighted site title...

This was written directly for the page.
I may or may not come back to re-edit.
Blue Menu.

There are many double-entendres contained within this poem
...The Grave means more than just a hole in the
literally refers to the person writing this poem.
There are also a lot of other-worldly metaphors
The Doorman, The Cabbie, The Night Manager all refer to
the literal person...but also a Being much greater than that.
This poem may require more than one reading, if you
want to make the effort. Thank you.

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