my po­ems swirl about with dust­devil bal­ance
the lack mid­dling be­gin­nings and ane­mic end­ings

they should be sealed in a plas­tic bag
with a great or­ange seal
and in­cin­er­ated

i’ll clothe my­self with sack­cloth
and rub their ashes into my hair 

per­haps, then i won’t be too near to hear
the breath of their whis­pers

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