NARROW
BRIDGE
My only biological premise is over; I have now
alienated everyone. The graveside manners of
my Delmore Schwartz have hacked off any
good limbs there once may have been. Barren
wastelands are all that remain and I am farming
what I've seeded - a pretty meager crop at that.
The woman in the semblance hat, she is knitting
covers for the books I've penned : pages never
turned, volumes never referred to. It is finished in
mere seconds. This life rides its own narrow
bridge.
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