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elii, or dining with death

what does a body look like

after suffering four years of death?

does it fold itself

like overcooked spaghetti


stand straight

like a sisal heart in kitulani?


today, my aunt died

and: i no longer have tears

for death


should i tell her this

when, if, she comes again?

Categories: Poetry

Neo Musangi

i like to think of myself as a stubborn non-human organism experiencing existential nightmares as though i were human. after numerous almost-failed attempts at long-form, i now call myself a poet (which i use as an excuse to be cynical about life).

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