When and why did what
come down to tell us
there’s a future and a past?
Was its intention to bedog us
ever after with the certainty
that we won’t last?
Why does it help to know
that we will die? There’s no
abstraction Death will mollify.
And then we’re told – by whom
or what? (could it be Death?) –
“Oh,
quit your bitchin’.
Do something
in the kitchen.
Go out
and prune a tree.
Write poetry.”
.
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