.
Ruperderma, whose rose-pink translucence
rarely
strikes him now as anything but silly nuisance
and whose incapacity for thinking he need
ever look
ahead apparently has left him idiotically
without
a necessary sense of dread that he’d be
dead one day
and that to laze about as if life were a
holiday is not
the way Lou knew we had to pay for this existence,
he wonders, how can you know you’re
anywhere if
you don’t know one day you won’t be here?
Dare to scare
yourself with the reality of absence – reckon
with
the beckoning of the abyss, witless thing!
Ruperderma
sat there happy in his dilly-dallying. Sometimes
he’d sing:
“Take me to the bullfrog pond and marry
me to me!
Then let’s let the three of us decide
what you will be.”
.
.
.
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