April 9, 2005

yesterday seemed an oblivious million years behind.
crutches and stems of dead flowers.
glass skin, pricked, weeping.

this is the last day on earth

slip off and into the unknown beyond
senses singing silently into a solemn summit.
fan your words over worken women, men, children.
railroads and street cars.
put your hands on the rails and wait for the passing.

The time will come.

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