The Writer

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The Writer

I am a writer.
I am interested in
The Science of Last Things
I don’t sleep in bed
I sleep in the in-betweens

in all cradles of nuance
there is a pronounced lasting
for every morning I trim
the wild grass that grows out
from the top of your head

till there is no more wanting
& while first light percolates
like the coffee you take with it
just like Mother would have had it
I remember the time

when you were crying
so hard in that room
there was no space for
anyone else to feel anything
all was feeling, the reeling

& every corner was a world
& every eye was an ocean
I remember for you because
you do not dare to
& here it comes, The End…

Oh.
I am not scared
not of death.

I am The Writer.
I make a living out of birds
I manufacture stories by the pound
I materialise out of fog
I cannot bear it
I will not.

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