undeliverance
the cart stumbling over the
rutted track
losing a wheel the world keeps on turning
the letter not arriving distant gunshots
and no difference
except maybe the tiniest of
tears
in the fabric of time and
space
the inaudible hiss of air
escaping
the world unmeasurably
smaller
an eternal unnoticed silence
pushed to the side of the plate
on the near death of Dostoevsky
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