If I am broken down into parts

Stripped and broken into husks and shells

Dried into simulacrum envelopes

Of what once was animation

What once was flesh

What once was original

Sin or innocence

Will I be reconstituted into what was

Or made into what will be

When envelopes arrive

At witching hour’s wellspring

Memories will be freshened

Or washed away

Reconstituted from the sum

Into the question



David Trudel  © 2013




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