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Literature and Ideas


Every living form must weaken,
decompose and even die
in some distant season — but I
am oesophagal fires burning,
Heliobacter pylori worming
into its epithelial eden.
I am disembodied yearning,
that which forms the zygote-people
from disseminated semen.

Fallen leaves and risen mud
will commerge on unsown sod.
Continents will surge and drift,
coastal shelves can always deepen:
for what reason, causal chains of
stood-fast, universal laws?
I (and my léger de main)?
Superannuated scam?
You have gone now. And for good?

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