The Great Ones Become Dust in the Gorilla Wind
They beat their breasts like gorillas.
They have won the burning wind.
They have won the dry burning wine but the trees do not bend.
The wind is without succor.
They choke on the wind.
They breathe and suffocate in the wind they have won.
They pass from this earth and their passing signifies nothing.
The wind blows but the trees do not bend.
They are the dust, whirling, blowing in the wind.
We rejoice in their suffering.
We reap the wind.
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