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casual lines

Where do they go, eternal lines?

They stop the mind a mere minute


before they fly, unadorned by wings,

and fall like flakes of dead skin,


destined for nothingness, but this

here/now. How to tell it?


I’m here because…but it’s all

so horrible, an accident! I can’t


live it indefinite, do it. Even

to be is to be nothing


but what I am – in effect

what you make of me.


April 2016

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