Jul 14, 2020
Death of Authors
Death to me
For I choose a sleep
Of ages, the breed
All gods succumb to.
Fear may come to shrinking
Hands, but the pen swims steady
Between skinny blue waves
Of paper.
Symbols splatter
By my blood, wrenched free
From dying kidneys and aged
Livers have power to resurrect
Far out in tepid futures.
Lasting pen, my sister
Give the living gift
To written…
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