I know how you like to adjust the center of your universe

All those suns are still out there

Spinning, cold, nauseous

Work

There is fruit to eat, where death is
Death is a place outside a county
Death is a person without a community
Death is clean dirt.
I worry that it is an escape
I want to exit without entering
I want to leave without coming
I want to cease
Thank god I'm afraid I wouldn't