Pompeii, Bombay
It doesn’t matter.
Words once chosen
are places --
I have to go
I can hear all the days coming
and kindnesses to make me cry:
certainties, pinpricks
leprous as promises,
as remembering why
Life is short, redundant, an antidote
From every place: unfold borders,
escape. I know. I know that
loss slows, quickens,
and goes
_
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