Closes Like Shell

Two minutes a day,
shameless joy,
the rest a terminal
journey towards
the ends of earth,

the buried treasure,
the cemetery. Inside
a room disguised as body,
its invisible seams,
fluttering eyelids,

a pearl resides within
a craggy, bony cradle,
an unwashed jewel.
And so the soul, pink
and round seems to

smile even at
its funeral, then
lies down, quiet
terrible and hidden,
quickly disappears.

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