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Bell Strike

November 23, 2019November 22, 2019 ~ G. Paul Randall

You don’t get to keep anything
Outside of these temporary configurations

The coil is always the coil, it’s the
Dispositions, born mortal, that shuffle off

We are bell-strikes with ears, clinging
To our own sound

Soothed in this melodious gestalt, let’s
Stay, just a while longer

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Posted in poem 2019Bodhiimpermanencepoempoetrythis mortal coil

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