Today, a woman with a love for drink who shakes and hardly thinks when she speaks, she handed me an old bouquet. The flowers were brown but I smiled anyway, cause even the magnolias are melting in the gutters out where the rain has its way with the Spring. I should have hung a sign on my front door to warn the April saboteur: Do Not Disturb. I’m doing just fine. If I don’t live, then I’ll never die. The preacher may tell you that you’ll live forever. Just keep your gaze high, keep your toes on that line. But I was born human for friskin' and foolin', for feeling that wind on my indulgent skin. So, I should have hung a sign on my front door to warn the salesmen of the lord: Be On Your Way. I’m doing just fine. I’ll find my own way to paradise. I’ve learned all my lessons at the hands of a lover, a maple, a mother, that holy other. Living and dying and breathing and crying all posture like children just wanting our time. I should have hung a sign on my front door to warn my wounded ancestors: Do Not Disturb. I can’t spare the time. I can’t live a hundred lives. Now we’re all waiting at the crossroads at night. We waver in our choosing. We’re just biding our time. And we should have hung a sign on our front door to stave the crumbling of the shore: Spare Us Today. We’re not ready to go. There’s still so much more that we’re longing to know. And do not disturb. We’ve closed our eyes. Why can’t we just live a hundred lives?