Speaking we do, to forget and erase,the hotel eats a food for our thought right up to the chandelier in bloom,a memory that is lost of forgot moms.

Our years come back in the thought like Christmas snow, bearded men in each year’s pretending differently,the festivity in hearts some fine ice.

Let us now have a clink of ice back,drink to the health of the deceased,spread flaked rice outside a hearse,as we freeze the moment in a page of forgottenness torn from memory.


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