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When I am Dead MAG
When I am dead, my dearest, don’t stick my bones
together with Scotch tape. Do not try to fit them
underneath a frame. Use them, one by one,
as a weapon, a gavel. My bones,
they can be good back scratchers, honey mixers,
and hands of clocks.
You can toss them across space
and see how far they’ll glide until another hand
slips across it. When I am dead, dearest,
thread my bones to the top of a mountain.
The next time you arrive at a glass sea,
spill it boldly. Spell your life in two parts,
watch them float until they descend
like a weight down into that container.
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This article has 406 comments.
do you know what positive and constructive critisism is? obviously not. you do not understand the subtlties orf wrighting to be able to give a decent opinion of this wonderful peice because your too obstinante to read between the lines and to the heart of the words.
I feel like you are being very judgmental. Please just try and appreciate the rhythm and the power of this work. Read A Tree Grows in Brooklynn sometime, you sound just like the ignorant teacher trying to mar the protagonists creative talent. Oh and HAVE A NICE DAY! :)
I feel like you are being very judgmental. Please just try and appreciate the rhythm and the power of this work. Read A Tree Grows in Brooklynn sometime, you sound just like the ignorant teacher trying to mar the protagonists creative talent. Oh and HAVE A NICE DAY! :)
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