The tombstone dictates:
“Man must separate”
I touch my face to ensure I’m still here
I won’t assign meaning to this
These mossy crosses in the forest floor
I hope I’m missed
What man loves, what man has
Must separate
While ashes and stones, boiled bones
Will remain

I think we’ve been presented with time and space and how big we think we are but if I’m
being honest in this moment that strikes me as a monolithic ego-trip
And tomorrow I’ll wake up in a red shirt and black boots and hang around my room and
watch TV while my chemistry sorts itself out and I’ll feel insensitive

The dead wouldn’t understand me anyways I’m in Germany
The British Commonwealth buried by their enemies

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