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memory blanking

i don't want to be the dark one in the corner smashing roses in yr name

such a plateau of non-being, non-fretting.  and
that all i might endeavor might
be with /self/ sufficience           to say there were such things/

the numbness that ensues says i'm the me minus you:
whole for the first time, and wholly empty.

and dedicated, still, to the ice fragments remaining.
afterward i loved yr constant cruelty, your rare ability
to desecrate me.   because
such a broken person Knows numb, and Goes numb
with opportunity.

so self can never be ascertained -- we never wished
for constants, until we met Confusion.  and

one could lay one out, facing sunrise,
and one could lay the other 
towards dusk. and
one might lay them right by the other,
but they may never notice each other.

and we construct puzzles.  we have all of the pieces;
no indication of the sum of the thing

and i don't want to be the one with only memory blanking

but i would be a vagabond before a rose destroyer