I drift east of the moon,
a vapor dispersing,
a dimension perpendicular to noon.
Call to me.
Tend me with great remorse.
I am wrapped in death's granite skin.
I have become
an over-the-counter medication
encapsulating formaldehyde in a time-release formula.
Call to me.
I will answer
with silence, in temporal immobility.
I am less
than a breeze,
a nuance of dark matter falling to a black hole of being,
building
to a critical mass...
Will I shriek into nova after half a billion years?
/
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