Seneca, My Existential Detective Poem by Travis Bowden
Seneca, My Existential Detective
you're sleeping with ghosts and kissing
your pillow. lifing one finger to signal,
dear, Seneca for just one more round.
she says, 'life is a quality,
not a quantity. no man can lose
very much, when only a driblet remains.'
but diet pills blur, with whiskey swills
and you cough up a lung.
and spit it right out.
saying, 'what's breathing for me,
well, it ain't breathing no more.'
This poem has not been translated into any other language yet.
I would like to translate this poem
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8/29/2026 3:48:33 AM # rel_20260827T145718Z_a0f1bd3
The rhythm of the first two stanzas is tight. 'you're sleeping with ghosts and kissing / your pillow. lifting one finger to signal, ' especially. I have a question about the third stanza, which loses a little momentum for me - I'll try to send you a poemhunter email. I love the last stanza - it catches.