Rather a word than the horizon’s glance, you'll wait for it, judging the
sea.
This last chance of living now deceases, deep creases your brow, so long now
you’ve looked to the end. Trapped by activity, you will die doing tasks,
going
it, poor baby, alone. The sea, you realize, shall live, and that, soon, not
much.
Quick, find a surgeon, eat a sturgeon, stave, stave, stave it off! The
stakes
(after all!) the stakes are so high! But I assure you: you won’t be there.
You’ll
feel, as you go, the ebbing, the loosening, the downward slip, is all. Death
is
a word we have no definition for, you’ll fall, swallowed alive, you’ll
fall.
Cheery-bye!
Larissa
Larissa Shmailo (http://myspace.com/larissaworld)
"The poet, like the lover, is a menace on the assembly line."
-Rollo May
_http://cdbaby.com/cd/shmailo2_ (http://cdbaby.com/cd/shmailo2)
_http://_ (http://larissashmailo.blogspot.com/)
_www.myspace.com/larissashmailoexorcism_ (http://www.myspace.com/thenonetworld)
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