Monday 4/18/2011 01:22:00 AM

the years like broken cartilage. lose their shape. sour their buckets with so much piss.

the box observes its would be contents. from a distant future. where the holes have grown large. and there is nothing left. Of the heavy buckets we used to carry. That always contained nothing. we just never knew.

the catapult was launching pebbles. but they felt so heavy. we didn't know. how dull the blade was. each time we stabbed at the dominoes.

we thought that they would all fall. eventually. we assumed it to be inevitable.

that we would be defeated by change. consumed with pieces. blinded by the whole.

it seemed so obvious. that those buckets would drain. that I would arrive with nothing.

monsters on her doorstep. too small to see. fools and gravity wait for the fall. but empty has its own means of measuring.

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