The intricacy of lace,

Or delicate vintage ironwork,

Even carefully chiseled leather,

And the lines of a rugged man’s face

Are seen as more beautiful than

The fine line work across the back of a lady’s hand.

Yet I’ve never undertaken a project so demanding

Than the steady tracing I’ve been building

On my knuckles, veins and tendons.

The ranks of these artists march row after row.

Yet such massive undertaking can only be undone by

That master white rubber eraser Death, what a guy!

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