1247
first day of a death
last of May, for Mervyn
on the gone-ness of one who was going
it’s so many years were before
and how is it I still am?
all hours sad with
in its early age still raise a glass
was there
without ever abandoning?
waves of the crisis when past
something is over
I keep up in the conversation
take the old advice
the living take care of themselves once again
(often not a pretty sight)
the taste of things is very far
how strangely time all up above
making it not make sense again
how can’t it be to come?
fare well
he never left
the world left him
we must be ghosts
though there are none
in every death’s eternity
here this all I am
never let go
say goodbye
when you are gone
and what’s the point of that?
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