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  • But when we died, it was okay, we rode in a little car truck out into the beauty.

    "A thing of joy is a beauty forever," he said.

    I said, "You are dead, you can't write poetry. You are dead, you dit, you can't be dead and be a wit."

    "Why not?" he said.

    He said, "Have nothing in your house that you do not know to be useful, or believe to be beautiful."

    I said, "You're dead, honey.You can't be quoting William Morris."

    "Why not?" he said. "Tell me why I can't."

    I said, "Well, I had you in my house and you were beautiful and you were useful."

    "What do you mean, 'were?'" he said.

    "You're dead," I said.

    He said, "Baby, kiss me."

    (Photo by Susan: Day of the Dead figures from Oaxaca Mexico set on photo of Artists Palette, Death Valley, California.)
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