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Sunday, March 14, 2021

The ides of March, a poem

 

The Ides of March

 

Fate’s patent on circumstance

makes a monopoly of accidents.

Me, for instance – isn’t my every hair

counted by God on his golden throne?

 

Down here below, those that I lose

collect in the filtre de cheveux de drain

In the shower. Out of omen

Out of luck.

 

“Caesar self also doing sacrifice unto the gods,

Found that one of the beasts which was sacrificed had no heart.”

Myself, untouchable, hairpicker grub

In the soapscum for what I’ve shed.

- Karen Chamisso

 

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