cheekbone moon I slouched by the tracks
hearing the
wolf-eyed
moan.
your slender line
clattering off like empty
freight cars
to
unlit burgs,
leaving
rusty cries amid smoke
and
dead
joyous
air.
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"This is the way the world ends / Not with a bang but a whimper." --T.S. Eliot, "The Hollow Men."
I will cleave until the white ugly heart of your skull is barren and yet I shall love you to the uttermost days of my life.
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