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Death Most Likely

Does the worm discern
between saint and sinner?
Is the maggots' savor
more sweet or salt?

We're but brief reflections 
of casual perceptions in the 
mirrors of intimate strangers; 
flash of light, splash of shadow.

Our track cracks mirrors,
distorts memory into mere
wistful thoughts or fears 
too familiar for surrender

Perhaps a truth exists 
of who we were--obscure 
desires which whipped us 
through the days toward 

oblivion, guilty consciences
that flayed away our nights
--only to be found as scraps
digesting in scavenger gullets;

fueling mindless instincts 
for a moment's more survival,
an urge to propagate the swarm
or just a burp of indigestion.

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