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The bed, your eyes almost

wandered. Under flesh 

the stomach fermented, 

gaseous and taut. 

Esophagus purple thinning 

tentacle. A wave of your hand 

because you could not

speak, whispered raspy. 


Experts on death 

suggest the body 

attaches to pain. 


A grey light 

from the window 

around the bed frame.


The sheets covered

like limpid paper, 

a body lingers

hollowed in bed. 


Dad, there was nothing else.

What else was there

to say. We were exhausted.




Your smell

maple syrup into urine. 

Your room, chemicals 

from a bottle from a box. 

We were the disgust 

we were ashamed of. 

Your body, decaying echo,

abdomen swollen

balloon skin 

impossible to hold. 

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