you shall bear no photo of your dead
nor twice wound scarf
about your own broken neck
how a single cloud consumes the evening sky
loosens each heavenly body
from its assigned place
without intent you remove furniture
in nearly the same way
the mirror's tarnished light
ask yourself which is worse
losing one who goes unasked or one who chooses
to go on without you
a hanged poet
farewell friend written in blood—
both of these from lack of ink
a drawer of dry fountain pens
bottles of dust
irreparable stains of blue
whose desk is this anyway
whose has it always been—
this was never your home
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