Ten Dollar Words

How will I unravel?
I mean, finally unravel.
I tend to think of my ceasing
in the frames of my favorite
ten dollar words.

Will I deliquesce?
Turning to liquid
seems like a relaxation; 
a flowing surrender
leading to a merge. 
Or, will it begin with
incontinence and shame 
and dissolve 
all borders between 
words and body
meaning and confusion?

Will I dehisce?
Blowing my top
could feel like a fruition;
righteously releasing
moral certainty 
upon a world barren
of sense and care.
Or, will the shards
of what I once was 
slash and burn 
on their way out,
the ballistic ejecta
of a madman?

Will I dissociate?
Ah, word of the day.
A least effort release.
Daily steps into the woolly fog
will stiff arm the aging body’s cries
and mute the sound of Others.
Inside the final 
self-soothing bubble,
distance will define me.
Drinking helps.
			

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