Sheldon

This is what I don’t quite get.

It sounds like I could send you a poem and it would be fine no matter what I said.

Even though there is no difference between my poem and my poem.


So it must be received…
how..?



A ponder for me.

But no longer the knives,
or the clawing at dark
without death, died, or dead.


A moment.

Wine?
Bread?