Bunches of left bones edge to
the remote lands where I grew up.
Compasses without course indicate
places of death and decline.
And the zephyr that rocks calmed
gets carried away and defoliates
the ceiling of the studded night!
And it is at the time when I run
by the slimes and the falcons stalk me
and know theirs future carrion!
Oh, heart that goes away for my mouth,
oh, heart that run off
and desert and fall over a precipice up to cutting yourself.
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