Oraisons Funèbres

Heraclitus said something about a river

twice often

or sometimes

the river took

my gloves took

my friends took

my siblings took

my groundings took

a deep breath and relished sinking

behind barren wonders hunted down and

running like a keel along those whiplash returns

within the murmur of a current bouncing through

small or broken hopes chancing upon proverbial

luck sunk beneath marsh fringed fields

instead of six feet under

a dull spectrum

of bone gray

and yellow silt

 

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