Yours Truly

To my dear Escritoire
I miss you always
so begins my epistle
written in formal sequence
forming sequals that constellate
within the consulate
winning approval for essays
on war documents on
occupants of the late 20th century
it was a gray one they all said
it was to have been a gay one for
all to see and behold, a century beheaded
slashed equanimity in half red tones
shades unknown to that
of human nature

peices of an anesthetic
deep in the skin of the marksman
caused him to assasinate
the greatest collective mind
known to mankind and
i am now left in pockets of blood cells
writing upsidedown gasping
for air gripping my final letter
it is an ode to the interval known as
last breath
one i look forward to taking
for the final time
yours truly