To this thought and the next
And the sum forever hence
Absent now as a letter unwritten
Blank, clean, and heavy
With the weight of all future tomorrows
Dolled out moment by moment
On the scale of this brain
Solid as stone, secreted like sludge
Sinks to unfathomable depths
Layer by ribboned layer
Run! Flee feathered fish of noble birth
And the righteous anemone, blind as death
To be scattered or entombed like Pompea
The inscription reads: Here lies my memories
And what of it?
These are mine, or were
Get your own to lose, or secure
For what angler would dare fish this inky sea
For thoughts once forgotten once belonging to me?
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Me (in words.)
Sometimes I like to write. Not well, mind you. But I do it just the same.