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CCCXXXII

April 8, 2014

Pages will fall from my bones—
books of bastardized biography
come flaking from my flesh,
finding their binding in the earth.
My veins will form the words—
I feel them curl and crease beneath
my drying parchment skin.
They tear and write in whispers.
A book in every step, sinking,
steps into the history of death,
steps into the sepulchre of life.
Steps into the sepulchre of life.

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