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Graven The
forgotten stone was once chiseled, but like a talcum
tale age whittled at the inscriptions on its ivory
face swallowed in tattered grass despite the keeper’s
efforts. A neighboring statue, sculpted and
finished to a linoleum sheen, eclipses the sun while the
keeper, with hair cycling through a white-scale
rainbow, fends the foliage, ignoring yesterday’s
achievements, laboring, never noticing time’s
slight smoothing of refined cuts.
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Conversation:
Poem and I I
hate you that leaps from my tongue, seeps from my
fingertips and spills onto the page. Given a
choice, I wouldn’t create you. You, sadist,
torment me. You wouldn’t Be without me. I
am your father, your God; I can abandon you or perfect
you; your fate is mine. You don’t
exist. But I do, and from curiosity I will fix
you. I will carve you, construct you as I see
fit. You need me. You
need me. Perhaps we
are one, and we need each other. Perhaps... We
are one. We need each other.
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Inspiration The
structural welders high above, scale steel
skeletons, shooting sparks of orange and white like tigers
drowning in stars. I stare with awe for the
welders, the builders, the Crafters, know why we must
sweat and bleed and destroy our bodies to create
something bigger: we understand the cathartic
contradiction: the perfection of details to relax our
souls. But as I watch them remove wallets stuffed
green like lettuce patches, I notice how few remain
on the ground manning the blueprints.
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