At Times Poem by RIC BASTASA

AT TIMEs
it is hard to shift from him to i,
all because there is something too personal
that should not have been
invaded by any
noun, lest things serious becomes
trivialized and
loses face, but there are slips of the tongue
and these so called
unguarded moments of the body
(when the soul is asleep
during the days of your grief)
when the I asserts itself like a kamikaze
on its suicide plane
ranting
and with a black smoke that
catches its ass
glides to earth
and dies