1,2,3,4, Many Con/Jur/d, 2/27/2025 One white gravestone on uniform field of snow two white gravestones cut from marble, poke out three white gravestones try to grab leaflessness four white gravestones this is what we thought Death was many white gravestones a frost on living, not grasping an end to form fecundless, skeletal bleached fingers point to an empty sky.
We would like to say something profound
about death, the truth is we just don't
know
no one does,
until you bring us back a memento

Much love,
Con/Jur/d, finished on 3/4/2026







Nice to see ya back in the Saddle.