Little falling persons

Little falling persons,
you wake me up each morning now;
falling small & helpless, selfless, fading
morning glories, 100 stories down you dropped,
unstoppable against unspeakably dreadful sky.

Tiny little tindersticks in tailored
business suits, you sailed
out of your windows on the world
in shiny heels & patent leather boots,
in waitress linens & busboy aprons-
you had no time to think about your spill,
unwilling Icarus that each of you became.

For you no wild blue yonder,
no ‘Stars Fell on Alabama’
no ‘Smoke Gets in your Eyes’..
for you, this was no lyric plunge
into myth & poetry;
it was business, just business..
unfinished business.

It is not my intention to diminish you-
I watched you fall and in that moment
wished a saner destiny for you;
no slowly-building realization-
rather an evaporation,
spontaneous combustion,
instantaneous separation.

It is not my intention to diminish you,
your life, its fullness and its end;
Was it maybe your birthday,
had a bouquet of balloons
just been delivered to the office,
or a box of Krispy Kremes?
Was this the day you were to be promoted?
Were you checking out your horoscope,
or typing out a letter, or a poem?
Were you going to tell your lover that
you’ve been cheating,
were you going to say the words
‘I’m leaving you, and won’t be coming home.’

Little fireflies,
we trapped you in a jelly jar,
punched holes into the lid so you could
breathe;
then let somebody steal you out from under us-
thrown into a furnace like so much garbage,
like so much trash & debris.

Little falling persons,
tiny falling stars-
you wake us up each morning now;
you fall & flame
unknown to us,
unnamed-
little burning moths
to Sabbath candles drawn
in all our fitful,
hellish dreams.

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