Reduced to Nought

“Black barren branches
Pinch and peck at me from every side.
Fog seeps into the lifeless wood
And clings to it like some pale colloid-
Like curare-tipped arrows of a bush-tribe
They scratch my skin; poison drips within-
Flesh necroses and sloughs off.
All bone, as cold as stone- I walk alone.”

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The Mathematician’s Folly

“Every day we die a brand-new death-
Every time we mourn for the past we lost-
Every hour we spend in foolish regret
For things we never paid a cost.
We hold them back, we gather the dust
In our sorry little tiny figurative palms-
We cherish them like some meagre alms…”

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