Death & Doughnuts When we were young, volcanic, in a panic to taste – swallowing shrooms, pills, alcohol, lies; The prize was everything... Now, my friends & I have talked & we have come to understand That we will all end In the same place. Where the wind whispers pronouns through empty windows, while gametes orbit in slowing spirals, & apples drop off trees in empty orchards. Where small hands dip into sandboxes & return, it seems, in an instant – unsteady, painful, & arthritic. Where forever twists & bends back upon itself – becomes almost comprehensible – a languid topography of memories. Where our most magnificent loves vanish into irrelevant valleys, into a mountain of spaces, into lakes of nothing.
"Spacemen see there’s no heaven above us. If you want, you can say that there’s no Hell below.” --Big Blue Ball/Karl Wallinger
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