Ask the Oracle

I will not take Khelmann’s river,
Nor into the breeches of time
fall.  i have my ink so dipped that
not the races of time nor ravages
of eyes could ever my ink spill.
Sealed boxes of stone are all
that remain, their corners still
my eyes gouge and their edges
down my spine ever cut.  I wisper
sicker things of wicked wonder
into the sides of boxes: “Where
have all the good men gone?”
They would swallow and turn
at the sun “Im Fluss, schon klar.”

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