deepundergroundpoetry.com
what now?
no longer young
but no yet old enough
to be buried
...somewhere
in-between
so when those long,
slow days come for
me where there is no
magic left
and a bed will be my
last home
where all the walls
are silent with the
memories of grief
come to me
sit by my bed side
and read softly to
me from
Fante's
Ask The
Dust
as I close my
eyes in
wonder
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