Eloi, Eloi
By
And then the rattling Death, a coin tracing a circle At once coming to rest. What lies behind the silver Moon—a slivered sun? Or perhaps meerschaum Haze, inaudible. The hymn of today Is the dirt-strewn ether. The body wanes Into crescent. My God, my God of the wood panels, And of the meerschaum, too— Will you haunt me? Or will I ever be Haunted by this vacancy?
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