Death for Life

Death for life the crier hurled

When picking up his stolen furs he stumbled round the open doors

Of lost finds and punishment grace

Of punk lying angels breeding the ultimate of every days

You look at a life that curls and whirls and discards pearls

And you wonder when the last one comes if you’re letting go or sweating more

 

Or

 

If holding a small fragment in the whorls of your fingertip

You glanced so intently upon it that the earth creaked and lurched

And the prize, that small fleck of will; being unconcerned but alive,

Perched like a raptor above a lake of possibility

dives and cried.

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