Friday, July 6, 2012

In stone


He Never Flinched
cold chiseled in heraldic style
asymmetrical threesome
of cherubim,
your garden variety
wreath of putti
hovering dejectedly in the vicinity,
each of them
a loitering little Buddha
riding the wave
of those remarkable paired
centered dates:
embarkation weary
from the relentless yearly celebration
termination grimly
determined to adhere to the facts,
the whole Megillha
on the verge of collapse
when the Buddha’s
put their foot down;
six jaundiced eyes
rolling in unison
at the pure fiction
of the premise. 

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