Smithereens Press Chapbooks SP9 - 'Kodalith' by David Lloyd | Page 21

Copestone
The coping weighs on his shoulder:
Turn at a stroke, to the eyeball
Welled up with minding. What if
The thing should sing then, sing
Out from the nought rim, spelling
With numbers, a jabber flush to
The finish. You’re history. Drapes
Sweep the place of its leavings.

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