Corpse Among Crumbs

our days are numbered—
it is impossible to see
but our

hours are corpses waiting to
become the
settlements we have found and are now

munching on something elsewhere

becoming a corpse among crumbs, it’s
late to feed a horse

some hear the call and are moving their
unconscious along at a pace resembling a replicated gallop,
some, the speed of a car

it all depends on the location of what is non-
but remains between between and
anything else

windows come and go, a
blur, and so
do our emotions, yet

the difference is how thin
the veils are where
physical, material property, and the laws
governing psychology

are no more than skin-thick, it’s time
to evolve


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