Wittgenstein’s lion (3)

says, reflecting on the skull's ipseity, A killing arises that, while quite banal, leaves me alone, happily that nobody knows day nor hour of-- If I expect you, you do arise ready & skinny out of the plains. I can't absent you from me dead with or without me, soaked in dialogue to the end, and wispish as the jacaranda Say one word and I will tempt you to me with the paw's split flesh.

Nothing beyond flesh