Unburied Poem (Excerpt)

Undo me, rub me out
of myself.

Say yes. Say easy.

The dying stays that way,
says press on.
This is called waiting,
keeps you on edge.

*

There’s so much noise,
how do you sleep,
how do you get yourself
to sleep at night?

*

You wonder if others ask,
feel the same way:
Don’t you ever get tired
of yourself?

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