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THE HERE NARROWS
by Quentin Smith
Something. And then there is nothing.
The hammering above my roof. And then silence.
I grasp my consciousness of the sodden sheets.
Soon it will be gone.
But why should I care.
Death has eaten
Everything inside me that could care.
I shove a handful of shredded wheat
into my mouth. Food, survival. Nothing else.
What is worse, the dead light
From my computer or
The same old sun expiring
through my window?
I affirm life, especially when
Studying calculus. I want to know.
That does make my life meaningful,
Doesn't it?
I don't care. I want some more shredded wheat.
Illusions drop from me
Like hairs from an aging man.
My breaking body drifts
In the dead lights.
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