when being run down
i always imagine myself circling a tree
back and forth around the trunk
waiting for him to tire
it’s funny, actually
until i struggle for my life

but when i imagine it, i always see some one else
caught in it, not me

this is the part i cannot stand watching
material coming unbound, for some one,
all the stitches out
the thing getting overwhelmed

dead is something else
a question mark in a stretch of letters
a sign standing in
for an atmosphere that couldn’t begin to word itself

it is the living who expire on death
starstruck with the body
that won’t write anymore



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