…and so it is words
that are the final means to save us, and I am using them all
then throwing them away
and I am left with that feeling of dying, which is good
like I might not say anything in the not so distant future
when the future goes away too
and I may be spilling words
in another century, as another writer
and I might start to accuse myself of cynicism
and I might be making uninferrable jumps
but when I am writing the above kind of stuff less
just doing the feeling of the words instead
then I will be gone
with all the words
in all the stories and art and poetry
and I’d have completed
whatever it was
everything came for…
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