Thursday, September 10, 2015

LEGEND OF THE SWORD OF APATHY

And so, ever 
forward!—or rather, charging defiant-
ly toward

whichever cardinal 
direction he deemed the most 
frontward at the moment

to the lily pink
insides of his 
irrespective guts    

(which he fed
intermittently, when he felt 
it made sense, by the way)—

with this!
the very same apocryphal 
instrument in question:

a tarnished—but
an impudent! little irreligious
ark of a spoon;

now bent from stiff use, and cupped 
just enough 
to shuffle—

such trifling amounts—of livid dust
and foul 
ancient dirt around 

as to give his surrounding walls
little cavities! and a very odd
resemblance to Swiss cheese.

And—all the while, it's been 
said, never intending
to use the resulting tunnels

to rifle
his crusty 
way out of the place someday;

rather, his gambit! 
seems to have been 
simply 

to grow old—
and do so gracefully,
while the whole dismal 

prison! he'd been 
living in 
since god-only-

knows-when—softly moaned
and shrugged 
and eventually just 

collapsed—
from in-
stability.

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