they got their money back, so that's ok


so deafening at first,
your death bell's toll
is receding at last
into the close-by hills

but no - the echo
bounces back from
an infinity of mundane objects
until my soul rings like a
Tibetan prayer bowl
rendering what's worldly frivolous

I love not, desire no one
no room now for the
feedback loop
of subsconsciousness

oh my love, my only love -
could I only write about anything else,
but the damage is done,
and the crowd shoves in to see
nine lives gone at once.

I'm yearning for a friend

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