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under the underworld
 we live on ancient
ash hard figs brown
                    oranges

we've no connection
to the past
	     we understand 
             direction

we newly age, invent
     prophetic wrinkles

(it's not the loss of life we fear 
we fear the loss of death)

            we are dead 
            then   dead again 
like worms pulled
            in half and
            halved again
there is one season--- 
            dead as dead
			summer 
		 about to die again


we are communal
(the super-greek, the hypo-
   moles, the morbidly 
              deceased)
community
is not the same as sympathy---
                      joint, 
advanced practitioners of death


beneath the world beneath 
beneath the world

we practice and practice 
                      death
          
                    death
                is our process
                we progress
                  to death

I don't accept
             bribes, I have no
ins, I donŐt trust 
flattery
       flattery disgusts: 

you are not dead enough


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