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We Forget (8th Violent Verse of 2010)


Impermanence floats nearest to our breathing certainty.

The man moved his feet amid the clamor, looking for a place to lay his head. He was spat upon, like a warrior coming home, fitting in, following orders, wrapped in cloth the weight of trees, pine, oak, poplar and red mahogany.

(Gold Pieta corners, swing-bar handles, stained satin arms, adjustable bed, lugs and tips to match, other colors available upon request.)

Within our hurry we forget the tree yet we’re set to sink at last beneath its roots, below the white crepe and full roll, the middle with our head on a shirr pillow, never again to sense the looming decline.

Good is only temporary, evil is permanent. Violence is faith without belief, hope without hands, love without feet.


© 2010 by mark prime






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