the sickness is a gravel rain
in the throat
bursting alive/dead
shoving tears from any
conduit such perseverance
backing itself into secondary
sickness stand here now and look
someone after all will like you
this new Spring is a bright rain
over the garden you are not choking
this is rain that you can feel
even from deep in there this rain
is coloured is warm
but over the rising smoke
the banging bell butts at such jokes
the fell falls on your emptying
chambers their empty wells
your throat dry from such hard laughing
.
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