1182
28.iii.23
4.87
there
are no immortal remains
for godsbother/ghostwriting
what will survive of us?
how long?
something of each must for a time
the black box record
of a parrot’s flight
the creature struggling with the poison
thrashing for last breath
as if to light
these words anyone might use
all this magic with numbers
say what they wrote now sacred to us
child being father to the man
a moment and its own forever
just these little persistences
animals, here to die, of God’s farm
each at last alone
come suddenly aware
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