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Endurance Test photo

For once, there are no rules. Only a parade
of tragedies, the preset rhythm of marching

feet bound for that tapered axis, that artificial
horizon. We have earned this loneliness, have

known what it represents: a spilt bowl of suns
dissolving a table, burning its way across the floor.

Sometimes, it stops there.
Sometimes, we let the dog lick its trail.

image: Ryan Molloy