Shaky
alive, in a manner of speaking,
wanting to escape into death
where would float around,
not be petrifed flesh,
unable to fish in a pocket for keys
for a wallet, or kleenex.
Fingers that once chased
Bach fugues around
piano keys and
gentled
babies,
now trembling
shaking like a drunk,
arousing suspicion.
Shuffling, bent,
with stiff faces,
words unheard, quavering,
choking on food,
gasping for death.
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