the slime of all my yesterdays
rots in the hollow of my skull
 
and if my stomach would contract
because of some explicable phenomenon
such as pregnancy or constipation
 
I would not remember you
 
or that because of sleep
infrequent as a moon of greencheese
that because of food
nourishing as violet leaves
that because of these
 
and in a few fatal yards of grass
in a few spaces of sky and treetops
 
a future was lost yesterday
as easily and irretrievably
as a tennis ball at twilight

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