How do you know when it’s time to die

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[An older sonnet of mine. Cloud shot taken from our property.]

How do you know when it’s time to die

Maybe it’s like touching up a pear or grape,
gentlest of squeezes between index & thumb,
a little give & she’s right to twist from the tree;
or chestnuts, looking for that sly peep show

the nut makes between green vaginal spikes
like glans from foreskin, actor from curtain;
or else apples colouring up their bright buns
like missionaries caught in the act & position.

Yet who can tell the plucker from the plucked,
the fucker from the fucked, as we all are
towards this nearing end that’s kernelled

into life like love a familiar touchstone
we’ve known all along would darkly
guide us star-wards whence we came.

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~ by Peter Lach-Newinsky on February 3, 2013.

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