Wednesday, May 17, 2017


When the great beast falls, bloody
riddled with wounds and crying out with
the pain of a long death, we shiver
upon the hot stone of a summer's day
just now fallen, considering how small
we are, how easily our own ends will
find us, and how ignominious our passing
will be in comparison.

A comparison between our passing and the
ignominious, found structure of our small
consideration, death just a day in summer,
stone hot, and yet we shiver with the
the long pain of our wounds, the riddle
in our blood falling like a beast into the
great nothing.

Patrick M. Tracy

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