We’re not sure, but it may benobody goes away.
Perceptions spill into and play
with the imagination as theyalways do and we construe
and make each other up
the way we’ve always done:at whim and will. Arguably
here or no, in fact we never go –
always larger than our sums:ephemeral amalgams –
existential sticky buns.
Spinning in infinity’s vicinities,we’re always on the spot.
Hard to see sometimes,
but when was any of us not?No one’s dead or gone.
Someone’s had us on.
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