Because my thoughts hath dodgéd Death –
It ‘bruptly stopped for me –
The Uber driver, he and I,
And my eternity.

He wiped the right hand seat for me
And offered peated Scotch.
I quaffed the high intoxicant–
Now life dint mean so much.

Sunlight, saw it first: I cried as,
Tuggéd, I was spawned.
An IQ test in my fourth grade
Exposed to all but me,
Labeled me a progeny
And there my troubles yawned.

Then playground toughs when I was ten
Their thorns ensconced my crown.
Then high school bullies taunted me
Down to a vengeful mess.
At nights I blender’d out their eyes
To gooey blindedness.

I see now hundreds: urns of ash!
The Uber passes yon.
Of such extent is vital man
Worn through his life, his sash.

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