I begrudge you your new life.
It tumbles the remains of mine
into a corner to slump bonily,
disarticulate on absent sinews;
or, better: a whispered-to nut skin,
trembling, to blow to flakes any second --
any second of these slow seconds
swollen to moments, grown to months --
thus the life arrhythmic
of a dying star dipping
to smear itself against the night --
a final dive of insouciance.
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