Jason Konschak

LUCKY STREAK

In London streets KICKED IN THE HEAD
By a horse WITH A SHIVER.
Like Rasputin, Fed 
Enough poison to kill a horse, AND
Shot five times IN THE CHEST,
AND flung in a river,
To cause death, NO LESS
BY drowning, IN THE END.

BETWEEN HIS TEETH
HE PlacED the Barrel HOT
like Rasputin’s POISONED FEAST
As had Hemingway’s CANCERED Toe
He PULLED for THE slug
AND LET THE SHOT—
The shot like a drug—
AND ALL THE PAIN GO.

As the Biblical Jesus
Martyred and toasted IN PAIN
A sudden SICKNESS
Would come a steal his name one day.
Like the plague Lou GarriG had. 
OR A CAR CRASH OR PLANE
KILLED BY A FAN GONE MAD
NO, IN NONE OF THESE WAYS 

DID jason konschak DIE.

NO. HE DIED INSTEAD
UNEVENTFULLY. SOLEMNLY.
In hope, and in bed.
In the PEACE THAT SLEEP GIVES
In the ARMS OF HIS WIFE
QUIETLY. COMMONLY.
HE DIED NOT AT ALL AS THE LIFE
HE HAD UP TILL THEN LIVED 

He died not at all as the life
He had up till then lived.