Thursday, July 1, 2021



Burn me down to

Ash when I die.

Put what’s left in an urn

And give it to

The wide-eyed,

Sweaty-palmed kid

With a tremor.

Out of the funereal silence

Will arise the piercing smash,

(Just my luck)

Of ice-white ceramic,

A collective gasp,

A plume of dust

Just as it starts

To rain and turn

What remains into mud.


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