I am stone

Ruthless

And constant

I am stone



Fake beads

And granite

Marble

And then some

A multitude

Of textures

One or another

Stone, I shall

Remain


Unyielding

And constant

I am stone



I yearn not

For the morning sun

Or the dewy evening

Dull aches

Surround me

Not within

But without

Empty

But not quite


Unknowing

And constant

I am stone



The lack

Of feeling

With trumpets

And cymbals

Announces itself

Between my eyes

Yet

I fail to see

What then

If not


Unsighted

And constant

I am stone



All is lost

When a void

Replaces questions

When all

Is left behind

When grey

Replaces colour

And blank

Replaces grey


Unfortunate

And constant

I am stone



—from the archives ('06); not only am I no longer stone, but that stone, now, has a most beautiful, unquestionable context.

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