under a chain of jagged stars
with gray bent filaments
I have washed myself with Shaol's sweat,
listening to
a starve-ribbed god throwing out red limbs
and humming low
a sappy tune.
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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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