It is all loneliness

One line

might not be enough

to build a life on


It probably isn’t

enough to pay for bread, and



One line might be the

echo, the bruise

on someone else’s belly


I could stay here

in the wingspace

above the city


I could stay

somewhere after the beginning

somewhere before the wheels come down


One line

won’t be enough

to live on


But it is

too much

for an epitaph.


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