When you're dead and grass has sprouted off your grave
with flash flood rushing to pile mud over you again,
only the agent of coercion-
the one who bored a hole into your head,
who tried to make your blood spill to the right
instead of left-
will remember this place,
how they dragged you away from your routine.
When the earth dries up and the grass over you withers
then perhaps one stray dog's nose will help us find
your skull with a hole that the bullet pierced.
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