dignity

(Sir Hobson came to call again:
. . . H. Choice , my damnable friend.)
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I have many thoughts, but few instructions how to use them;
then you will die he said,
best you understand the time to disappear is now. . . I said you're wrong this time doc . . .
he said:
you have a pulse, i am correct. . .

For some perhaps i said, but surely these things only disappear into a seperate grief,
and where's the dignity in this?
you want some dignity? he asked, folding my check . . . whereon i left the parlor
turned the key.

The blinking stripes slip quietly beneath the hood
. . . . disappearing and appearing down the highway one by one by one
recalibrating wholesome snapshots from the good;
i come i go, soon
lost inside a private garden he could never know.

Her fingers push the sleeve up from my wrist to place her lips . . .
a sapphire kiss
to disappear from this?
 . . . and here the weight of emptiness reclined as if to stay. . .
Sir Hobson's calling card, folded smartly on a silver tray.

Where do evaporated fathers go?
i'll never tell you as i'll never dare to know. . . . the weight of nothing is too much a choice with all its spiteful shade;
best to dream inside the bed already made.