5.3.20
65
death
for fear of abstractions
death has these little wings
often smaller than seeing
hovers, you wouldn’t think so
but picture the dark – flag, scythe, sores
no one calls
nowhere to go
death has a life of its own
comes static like applause
by obsession, for instance
picture of a coffin
as good as my word
you can tire the body with thinking too much
wear out the mind with these strokes
head or heart?
who’s first?
starts with a sniffle
then the daisy push-ups
some go to event
somewhere sunk under skin
a continent of
come slip through a door and
how many lines?
which animals follow?
a special deal on suffering
consider a little transmigration
any other mob could be right
still willing to the end and after
takes a kind of rigor
it was just a scratch, a little cough
still lightning strikes
you’re down
dreamt as far as that
sleep gets in
won’t go
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