In the face of oblivion,
an ostrich head buried
& mud caked,
suffocating securely
beneath the surface.
Or, the expanse of
albatross wings, few feathers
still floating in spindles
to an ocean tide
folding & swallowing the yellow beak
before a new absence.
Yes, in the face of oblivion
there are options
& they are endless:
the time between
the trigger and the recoil.
---
What slowing throng
pulses now towards infinity?
The weight of want weighs most
when want alone is wanted.
What slowing throng
to always pulse on.
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