the radio
left a volume of residue
for six years.
an adolescence of grief,
her existence is but a riddle.
the murder story of the
coming-of-age tale
no plans, no plans
now the clock is set
she has produced a most astute procedure
the inimical protocol established
a saturday, saturday.
cracks along the sidewalks of
her skeleton.
ossa presserunt
illa rumpit, illa rumpit -
there it is! An exit
run to the finish line
she will soon have seized the race.
If you were to leave on a saturday-then the world would also end for 100 times your one person. If you were to go on a saturday afternoon, then the world would end and settle in its ashes by saturday night. You go, I go, we all fall down. Stay.
ReplyDeleteit'll be alright. love you so much so much
ReplyDeleteonly alright if you're here
ReplyDelete