Was it I who said that one becomes what
one
Forgets? how ridiculous! now it’s
the moon-hour
And cold and here mopes Death the thirteenth
Card of the major arcana waiting quietly
for a
Cadaverous countenance to become youthful
And comely again O what catastrophe
of logic
Or lust made Death the most
misunderstood
Card of the Tarot? there was this sharp thing
That happened to the ruined naked face
In the marbled imperfection of
memory but
Nobody remembers anymore what or why
The sword was driven so deep the
hilt so rusted
So much absence in those eyes one
imagines
There the rubble of sleep the moment
of love
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