In front of my mortal remains
In front of my obscure rottenness
As Baudelaire said it
I'm the echo of the echoes
I did not have very long bones
But fort and white they were
My skillful teeth pulverized raw meat
Loudly definite skin by feeding well in life
Long blond curly hair
My abrupt skull even preserves
Decomposed fingers with tendon vestiges
The whole life playing guitar
My flexible and rapid fingers were
Remains, I is just an idea of what I was
Remains, my degraded image

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