small poems against dying
An impossible stone. And in the stone the middle sick child of noise. And in the child a clueless crow. Now strikes now. Pain only remembers tomorrow. I won't create god. He keeps asking. The extent of my knowing is that I know it is there, the thing my life interrupts. She, her, field. Leaving on an Ohio road a mouse to invent ice. The angels are fine. Miracles are terrifying.
kingsoftrain 
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