Last Daze From Che Gueverra
So slow
counting years
on the bush road
where loops and curves
windchime in time
the lyrebird
steps from the bank
on to the hood and off again
stops to take in your eye
telling you your time is ended
the hands
stagger over
those handsome pixels
losing energy seconds breathless
the beret the stare all Argentinian
children stole
your penguin biography
but I remember the gritty
death pictures your beauty ruined
no bullet holes stare from a kitchen wall
new battery
breaks the clock stall
have you noticed out of some dark
how you have to choose to listen
to hear the pulse beneath a clock tick?
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