Let us take a moment to appreciate the resilience of the grave.
With gravity on its side
the duo is impenetrable.

Let us take a moment to appreciate our tapioca constitution
perfect in its vibration
this consistency survives all vessels
all shapes,
even the grave
even gravity.

We admire the consistency of taffeta,
no matter what shape it is trimmed and sown into
the blessed thing is coarse and shiny, tough, inflexible
demanding the attention of all the TV screens, and all the bridegrooms.

But we can never be taffeta,
we are made to be perfectly sloppy,
so that even the grave cannot contain us,
listless- no need to refrigerate,
so that we are uniformly one even if entire chunks remain 
in the dishes we were previously served,previously eaten, slaughtered, cut in.

We can mesh with other tapioca bowls,
be mashed by the unforgiving fork,
and still the grave cannot contain us.

We admire taffeta, because 
although its formation is supple and keen–
it cannot survive much of anything
Her, the grave will contain.

Taffeta does not leer at immortality
because it’s elegance cannot diminish.

Tapioca–what we are
will go on and on and on,
and remind us
that time is an illusion we did not sign up for.


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