DURAVILLE
'Nothing lasts forever', the eternal
monument states. A paradox itself,
its notion slowly crumbles.
-
Atop the mausoleum, some beautiful
bird alights - mocking or shrill, a
taste of sixteen calls, all the sounds of
other birds. A mockingbird steals songs :
a magpie just steals.
-
I have no armor with which to plague
myself. Here before you, I am unbearable
and dead. My language reeks.
I utter no truths.
-
I am a spade in the midst of pickaxes,
a shovel in the midst of hoes, a cleaver
amid pitchforks. I am a spoon, lost
among the knives and forks.
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