CONSIGNMENT

 

 

CONSIGNMENT

One day you finally

got tired of thinking

about dying. About 

your body and its little

woes. You understood

there’s a world 

out there beyond

your skin that doesn’t

care a fig or a thistle

what you’re thinking,

where you go,

whether you live

or not.

That was the day

you consigned yourself

to your dust,

and, like Job,

declared yourself

content.

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2 comments on “CONSIGNMENT

  1. Ray Hudson says:

    Don’t tell me I’m going to actually be able to leave a comment? If so: wonderful. These poems the past months have been astonishingly beautiful & moving.

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