soul is just the spit to get it going in a fraction
of the time it takes to contemplate taking a piss or a shit in the public restroom, ie: outhouse.
The house was cold and dark, but that wasn't
unordinary in these dank times
hands held tight were lost to the sands
irritating ointment of opium or sex or simple forgetfulness
to wait in vain is to know true pain
the loss too great to accept, let alone calculate, inundate:
an interlude become mythic time
in the short transition between thoughts of--just then --remembrance, ie: recollection in
the barn fire of your grieving mind
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