Deck Chairs and Boats
A snail crosses
along a razor's edge,
from it's past, complete.
To it's futures, separate.
And just before it's twin selves
slide down the opposite sides
of a steely wall
it's last thought
captures the totality
of it's trek.
The atom in the
quantum corral,
a mirage of the discrete,
or a sum total of all?
Deck chairs and boats
in a Duchampion universe.
How would our own years
be viewed,
ninety degrees
from the razor's edge?
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