Missed at/one/ment (15/06/16)

I am One Thousand Years Old.
I contemplate Death (who doesn’t?)
In the Dark at Night.
Alone, but not lonely.
I used to believe I was an Old Soul
But my soul is an infant only
Maybe a young rabbit
In rural old Upper Canada
Killed Too Soon, Too Young
To do the foolish hunter any good.
But I know my body is
One Thousand Years Old.
It has lived in
The catalyst of every age;
A hand-me-down of bone,
Of dried-up desire;
Every life it has lived
Craving life, but never broken
Never Sliced
So it Dried
And Staled
And so, like a Fool, I cram these disparate parts into
Divisive Times
And await what’s next in patience

sine spem.



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