The Happy Death....Of Stopping To Talk To Another Mad Man Poem by RIC BASTASA

i was talking to you for an hour
or so, and for the coming hours,
i feel like a hot potato, or a
cheap bread, deserving the fate
of another hungry man feeling
delighted at everything, whatever.

i should have not talked to you,
but there i was, the unresolving
revolver shooting at every issue,
without ever thinking what happens
at the end, or at the dead end of
unbelief, or at the point of no
return, whatever that be,

coz here i am feeling so miserable,
having wasted words with you,
words which i have thrown like stones
to the bloody river of Styx, unable
to find which part of my body has
become vulnerable to a happy death.