April 20  2004

One-thousand one-hundred seventy-three

the sign of the dead

my sooty finger

you are responsible

let the world be the world

make no promise

but promise

small cask

cardboard casket and no casket

secretly dead

love in the hinterland

every day a birthday

I want to talk to you now

grand impossible meaning

you are responsible

only for saying

rumour in the hinterland

a blue or quiet drowning,

cellular desire in a poem

shining mortality in a painting




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