When in the room forever shrinking I prop my limbs to bear the walls
A hundred trillion things I think (I—rather—scatter thoughts)
For to spend the last most intense pellet on the object most deserving.
Only faster coming weighing slumping walls upon my cheek
The iron on my pupils black and my limbs not buckled yet
The black hammered weight my shrinking white and grey abiding blights
And fast as that the pellet like a supernova seedling ripping all around inside me
So that destruction will in minced instants be doubly totally assured—
But the lovely breath expended as one whose body others taste and drink,
Whose body the universe in burning crucible transmutes
And stars and heavens, cold-chilling ocean deeps and breath-warm dirt
Are conglomerations of the atoms of the constant thoughts I had
For one to spend the furious pellet deservedly on.
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