1682
5.221
9.viii.24
what does it matter to
be gone?
into the city
in the oh well underwear
scared of another colour of course
wondering at the lights
to once a map now shone
here they are
the others all to be gone
the common lot
ash mulch blood
and here a minute
gone
we nevertheless
we flightless
wisp away we all
to fill the wonder lungs
old phrases
all forgetting
what can we any of us mean
or matter?
a fall from often inches
and some were hardly here
to see hear taste touch smell it too
duty performs us
when
you won’t feel a thing
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