***
The death ‒ a blank page
where I write my name
and ditto like a song smitten
incessantly in the soul
without a stick, but with secular
humility in the same way
the sensations of this world, too
until the pencil gets lost
in the abyss within me
without a tone. At the hour
of the delight wrapped in shroud
once more smitten like a swarthy
jackass. Who knows with how much
stubbornness he withstands yet another
day like many others like two drops
of water within full light begins the agony.
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