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loss of history

Broken ballerinas attached with strings

slump dazedly in the dusty floor,

feathers from a previously glorious phase

scattered in broken lumps

clumped with blood and tears.

Haunting violin laments

through a voice crackling

with age

the loss of the past greats

as the gilded, stain-glassed ceiling

collapses with a tired groan

and shriek of rage and defiance —

but the yellow monsters sweep in

on wheels and elephant feet,

sweeping history and love and grace


for a new supermarket.


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