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by Morgan Grayce Willow


Too clever by half.

Outwitting those who bind you.

Outwitting even the gods.

Didn't your mother ever tell you

never, under any circumstances,

outwit the gods?

But if you must try,

be sure to let them win.

Their memories are relentless.

Their tortures infinite.

Here you are now

saddled with that boulder.

Even worse, saddled

with that damned faith that today

will be the day you push the mass

all the way to the top,

and leave it



And what if you did?

What then?

Would you grow fat and lazy

on a porch somewhere,

the rocker forcing the floorboard to squeak

every time you cross the same plank,

too forlorn to move it just six inches,

even one plank