This Age of Weapons

by Jessica L. Walsh

Only the unrecorded is merciful

Me   I side with paint and chalk
I will take renderings
but me     I am a holdout
                                                    a homesteader
rifle cocked to keep you off my worthless rocky dirt

I will sit on this porch until we meet
in the sinkhole

Meantime you run the quarry       where sweaty
unfed children drag glinting stones
to the surface     only to dump them in shiny heaps

The line of stones glows all night
You hardly sleep for sorting the cold hard

No one needs so much
There is a thing known as too much

I promise all I want is the lifeless mine

I have no more use for your miniature


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