DS Maolalai Immortality less important drinking wine, typing poems at our flat’s kitchen table. my girlfriend has taken the office away. she works late sometimes and I can’t really argue—my chance at immortality less important than paying our bills. so if poems are different then that’s why tonight: I’m writing now somewhere unusual—not that you’ll know it; they’ll go out just the same to the editors—mixed in with old ones, ones written later on. the extractor fan glows with a warmth of a campsite and fireplace. tile floors and wood cupboards reflect back the keyboard like marching and hesitant ants.
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