no (weapon)
you do,
you realize that this
weapon carved of bone and the
simple, black bile of
the last evening of summer,
sweet and bitter and escaping,
will only serve to bruise the flesh
that, in wet strips, i wrap my bones in.
it cannot remain
if it is used against me,
it will crumble to fine dust and
mingle with the dirt along
a cliff edge,
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