The Last Lines
With silent tenacity I will lie
When I write the last lines
They will be dignified, harmless cuts
On an old and kind face.
I compose but words are no more
Than coffee grounds in the last cup
Of a banquets urn
They wear gold rags these words
They cover nothing much, they are useless
In dressing the nude flesh
Of every moment spent
In servitude of truth.
I will lie for the sun is a lie
That warms the world
The idea it rises for us
Is no more than thinking
A bridge is the gorgeous dream
Of a river.

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