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Paul Grimsley

You mistook comfort for entropy and sought renewal elsewhere
Sacrificing me to save yourself I curl foetal and fossilise
Picked up on the beach by wanderers in search of shells
The husk of me crumbles in their hands and I am dust to dust
Spinning down through concentric circles of the same old story
To the beginning where the whole thing unravels
And the ball of wool knitted into me is a line fraying
They were never cats playing and chasing through time
Just travellers sat before a sphinx riddling in the valley of the dead
The sand slides through Sibyl’s fingers to no profit
I was never about the future and under inquiry’s heat become glass to shatter

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