Here lies Martes Flavigula, eternally beneath the splintered earth.

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Poems -

Vanish from
existence - or
what passes as existence for
"them" - during a
couple of days, into
a sphere where
no-one asks who
you've been on
or off about or about
which toil tugged
you up
or down or drug
you around. No-one
tenses their eyelids in
passive judgment or
worry - and
gossip singularities
relax their bounds. It's just
you and
your machine alone.

Along with martens, goulish goats and the rippling fen -
these writings 1993-2023 by Bob Murry Shelton are licensed under CC BY-NC-SA 4.0

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