After death so much, fantasize
So many weak-brewed afterlives,
And generally waste so much time
Imagining another world
With wholly different rules from this
Because this, this itself, is it.
Do you take our point? Obvious,
When you consider it—pungent
And intricate as this world is,
So poignantly, vividly cruel
And rich, the hallucinations
Give it away as holding place—
All of this is Limbo, Bardo,
And we’re all ghosts wading through it.
They bared long teeth as they said this,
Which only pierced their thoughts with bliss.
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