pitchfork gag

upward; your name and my eyes train toward the stars – whole and wholly gone I can no more trace your trajectory than I can discern the daily patterns of the dead –

yet my darling, you live. i think you live. i pray you live. i know the facticity of where your feet have been, what your hands have touched, what your lips have curved upon – don’t try Marlboro Red’s, they have additives, and i hope you don’t come back with ashes under your tongue, my sweet –

but what of it? tell me, you can’t tell me, i don’t deserve to know the landscape which your inner-self surveys; i can’t catch the gleam of projected plans, contracted fears, fractured emotions in its unblinking eyes – do you blink, and savor the darkness? do you, love? what is there for you in the darkness but rest, the rest you awaken in the day

talk to me; share with me a token from your native land – a talisman, piecemeal, bargain price, factory-made, for i swear to you, i have never seen it or anything of its sort

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