"Look on my works, ye mighty, and despair!"
Nothing beside remains.

There will never be another time like the time there was
and yes, i could count myself king of infinite space
now the denials have slowed
to a muddy, sluggish stream (one)
i wonder
is it better
to bathe in fire
or breathe in honey.

And is there room for advocates
to argue our causes politely
and boil them down to fine points
and bind them in a nutshell
sealed with the stamp of the court?
(chestnut conkers cracking at each other
everyone has their own technique of hardening)

or is there hardly room for wishes,
and none for the words
just mute bodies
growing together like a tree and a fence
are my lessons done?
now that i've built a statue
of the dying of our time
you've gone and become half-
necrophile, half-Pygmalion,
and want it to speak.

I try not to move
or attract your attention
and listen to the questions you pose it
and the answer in a dream again.

This is the result of a nodeshell challenge from so-and-so.

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