Come to Italy and live in the sun,
you write.
Serenity is a giant orange waiting
to be plucked
from the gnarled trees near
the old tracks from Naples.
the old tracks from Naples.
Look, how the years are slipping by…
five, ten, fifteen…
the years disappear, like bread crumbs
in a wet woods, while the drudgery of work,
dishes that never fail to pile up,
laundry that overflows its bin,
eats away
at our existence.
That spreadsheet you are working on,
the site update,
Leave them. Take the Bullet to Pompeii.
Even the ardent cadavers cemented under glass: entwined lovers,
frightened horse, chained dog,
have more life in their feral remains,
than we, safe in our chairs.
Let’s don’t wait for a police escort leading
mourners to our remains,
but go now
but go now
before our swollen bodies join them.
in the city of dust.
Years slip by, and bread crumbs disappear. I agree they don't "match" up and I'll see if a better word would work.