Cement Sculpture

by dschapman

I have been mixing concrete again. I think there is shit in my aggregate. It is either shit or mud. They say anyone who works with sand has problems with cat shit. My sand aggregate is having a problem.

It is all earth now, I tell myself, although there is no getting around the fact that cat shit compromises the integrity of my work.

Blank and dry, the cement hardens, exothermic, burning my skin with its caustic reactions. I am all burned up and feeling fine. I eat an ice cream cone to cool down. I keep ice cream in a box in my kitchen with power running to it 24/7. That is a good box. It is delicious.

Quiet stones are free from empty wrath and in his reins I was finally left alone, just rhyming, my hand under my head, on the long road to Damascus; leave me, father, for I am a Roman, and I am a Jew, and I am a Christian.

The dorkiest thing about it was that I didn’t even know I was being abused.

But I was not being abused…

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