6/25/14
Take a moment to ask the creator
what it’s like to be unmade.
No marble image, impressed with sack cloth
survives two thousand years unchanged.
Forget your identity,
or it will be forgotten for you.
Poles shift, connections blur,
deductive scrambling leaves a logic layer.
Trade destruction for attrition,
some say the world will end in water.
I throw up my hands in resignation--
or, one throws her hands up,
not sure who’s shoes she stands in.
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