some time back,
the burst innards of stars and maybe meteorites
assembled themselves into other forms
that eventually became cats and trees and
even us.

What happens when writers die is this:

Those sentences they didn’t get to write
(molecules composed of words, spaces, commas and such)
shoot up, released in great supernovae burst,
and rain back down
into an unsuspecting child,
who all of a sudden has to mark up a wall,

preferably with a permanent marker.

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