Sunday, April 8, 2018

Three hundred seventy-one: A stopping place

this could be the end
when we will have had
our last birthday party
our last
easter-egg clusterfuck on the lawn
(from which children sent home in tears
questioned later by law-enforcement
in search of much-retarded signs)

because I see
I perfectly well see that
you are not human
and cannot be destroyed
by any craft that we here possess

that you so durably subsist
as to be immortal
undying as the humerus
of an archaeotherium
or of one of its teeth

but perhaps you cannot see
that that rule
goes exactly double for me

not that it is any comfort

but an archaeotherium is a pre-historic sloth





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