the tears drawn from
the well of the eye
glisten the plains of the face
funerals always get to me,
ever since my sister wanted one
of her very own, sorrowfulness has always
appealed to me...just as inexorably as Marxism does
he speaks, the eulogy of love and tenderness eloquently
-- all of this seems so unreal to me--
inconcievable that she is gone
& I take a flower from the wreath
and say, goodbye Karen, still disbelieving
missing the corporeal, sensing the deeper. 
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