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I Step Gingerly Over My Body

I step gingerly over my body and out the door,
trailing wagons of red words
across the remains of the comet
that passed ever-so-briefly through the heavens
and into the eye of my needle.
I'd been waiting for the pass for centuries it seemed
oblivious to the calculus of the day.
I bothered neither with landscapes nor with portraits,
having abandoned perspective years ago.
Life, for me, bumped along without a blink:
caskets were crafted by the light of pyres,
spores threatened the world's wonders.
A friend of disappointment,
I paid tolls without flinching,
pumped gas beneath the Self sign without logging on.
Above, celestial arguments grew louder and louder.
I hid in the laundry room among the unwashed.
One day, while channel surfing, I learned to whistle.