The Nacreous Oughts

26 January 2006

   What Happens To Burried Wood

There will be no stars for us, now,
or for those coming after.
Terminal misgang.
To say so insulator vespers dread.

There will be no stars
yet something may anyway come.
My addicton is worse than yours.
It's not in the Wikipedia.

Wearilessly ought locomotory slumward
I can also conjecture.
Handbook of Self-Annihilation.
This morning it was very early.

K. S.

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