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Jonathan Fool Stone, Jr.
Fool stones pelted by dry rain;
a cascading wave - white shedding of a salt lick,
coating the black statue's tongue.
Willed to autonomy by venture of his cringe;
he spats and coughs the sandstone
that collects from the sad remainder of his teeth.
Newly-sharpened desert winds
are exhaled from the dozens of holes in his lips,
and he smiles at the thought
of his breath, abreast of any currents in air,
fileting flesh from pale bone.
