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Granted reality is infinite

And nothing be added nor subtracted from it

This little town drowsy and rainy

Is for the scriber of these verse

In no derogatory way of course

As good a hiding place as any

Outside conveniently there’ll always be fog

Door’ll have a peephole but be missing a lock

On rare occasions when snow does fall

Gods in detached manner inform

That time’s run out and now in turn

You’re no longer wanted, not wanted at all


Still paying utility bills is a must

It being self-explanatory I trust

Otherwise mundane obligations are none

Moreover are quite unnecessary

Figments of old vocabulary

Wife, mistress, comrade, son

Bottle of wine a day…or two

Sometimes get a letter others the flu

The Will all along might have been free

If there is no death what’s the use of a spade

Mistakes it seems were meant to be made

You’re now alone as alone can be

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