Monday, May 9, 2016

VIGIL

No no no
no. You got it

all wrong. Life's—a small

room.
Where your

stiff graceless
bed is. And it's
death

that's the compulsory white door in the
corner,
which you

easily push open
without thinking

and shuffle be-
grudgingly through

in the
morning—and come to this

hallway.
With many nice-ish things
on its

walls
and an early slick dark kind

of coolness
to its
floor. And, well,

nothing's
really
wrong at all. Except—that it's,

you're dim-
ly
apprehending, a long

long
long
long,
long—neverending

sort of hallway;
and so

you presume it's too
late—that

you're pretty
committed

now. Or more
precisely—you're doomed
to remain

wide awake and walking

for at least
the next—
very.

very
very? very
very. Very-very very?—yes,

very. next
long little while.

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