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Too clever by half.
Outwitting those who bind you.
Outwitting even the gods.
Didn't your mother ever tell you
never, under any circumstances,
outwit the gods?
But if you must try,
be sure to let them win.
Their memories are relentless.
Their tortures infinite.
Here you are now
saddled with that boulder.
Even worse, saddled
with that damned faith that today
will be the day you push the mass
all the way to the top,
and leave it
there.
And what if you did?
What then?
Would you grow fat and lazy
on a porch somewhere,
the rocker forcing the floorboard to squeak
every time you cross the same plank,
too forlorn to move it just six inches,
even one plank
westward?