Midwinter Blues

Becoming Charlie

My senses
dulled to gray,
my life
empty promise
propped up
by prescriptions
which ease
my suicidal
forty floor leap
to a midwinter
first floor flop
into yew bushes,

I dust myself,
don a bowler hat,
flex my spindly cane
and discover
a pocketful
of whimsy.

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