These days I ask
the dead stupid questionslike "Where are you?"
They answer with
ghostly shrugs,
phantom eye-rolls,
and other kinds
of silence. Cremation
or burial or just plain
rotting: tiny bits take
the place of bodies,
the place of minds
as fabulous as palaces--
dancing, insights,
laughter, jokes, similes,
sadness, crafts, and dreams!
The dead are in a place
I'm moving toward:
a genral locale called Not.
hans ostrom 2025
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