emet ezell

somewhere in berlin, they pull a frozen swan out of the canal, noose on its neck. a miniature crane hoists the stiff creature back to its skyward position. on the bridge, people stare. swan sways. twilight.

a bevy of swans congregate in a shallow pool of runoff — sludge from the roads that still runs warm. here we are, squawking for a spot in the toxic waste.

the swans are indifferent to sacrifice. trash piled thick in the streets. when we die, each will inherit 310 worlds.⁠1 think of the dust.


                                       ⁠1 Mishnah Oktzin 3:12


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