I’m constantly confounded By our unavoidable Decease, The vibrant eternal uniqueness, Hot and impossible, To nothing, To one of several Cold boring urns, A gathered firewood ablaze To uniform and lifeless ashes Just like all the other scattered heaps In every other fucking fireplace. I’m cast to wind like cloud of seed, Bereaved, And disappointed by death’s Refusal to be more creative. This is the best The universe or god Could do Or chose to do. I miss you I miss so many. They never come again. - 4/5/25
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