Your birth, the birth that follows
The birth that follows the death
The death that follows then, even
That follows the empty space
The vast remarkable empty space that follows
The no space that follows the no thing
The empty that nothing came before
The chair you sat in, the cup you drank from
The spot on the table where your elbow rested
The treasure of tasks you left undone
You left undone
Your dreads askew, your books unread
Your shoes unlaced
Your death that followed your birth
The call to you unanswered
Holding you then
it all came undone
In the instant that followed
No other instant
-Peter Ciccariello
9/28/2005 12:19:33 AM
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