is this life my life
if this life is my life where is my other life the one from before
my horseman was not headless bodiless sometimes but not headless
. . .
sometimes I remember my parents
more distinctly more vividly than main characters in the best books I’ve ever read
I remember them deeply sometimes
. . .
the curse I always remember
perhaps that is the body of the headless Flemish soldier
there were so many dead after each battle and in the streets and back allies
I hated to go outside
. . .
and yet here I am in this life
voracious for more