Thursday, June 12, 2008

To the Nearly Living

I am summoned from my bed
to the ancient city of the dead

Over the archway
to the doorway
we float upon a myth.
Howling toad called race,
disappear in the assurance of immortality.
Stricken match called consciousness,
cool yourself upon the coals
that this knowledge of our similar teeth
allows us all to eat the same caves.

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