I stand here, smiling, smiling for eternity. I am old, grey with the haze that extends beyond all natural longevity, grey not in wrinkles and tangible crowns but in ash mold and forced permanence. False wind stirs my rock lead coat, carved curved folds, careful casualness. Casualty. A noose tie burrows into my clothes-skin, my outside coverings that became myself. And still I smile, maggots grinning in hiding between my lips, old dead skin plastered to my nose. Pressed hair in the painful part imposed by attempts to sever thoughts in two. A brown pine needle brushes my eye and swifts to the ground, careful pattern-bricked chaos. Eyes half-open, squinted by the forever-smile, just so I can see blurs and dryness. Reality passes only in the corners. My feet skate unmoving toward a plaque on the ground praising my remains. Hands deep in formless pockets, clutching times. I cast off no cloak in summer, only shadows of the flown pine-fingernails. Glass-marble just below my feel reflects tree hands and concrete ghosts. Thought gargoyles carving themselves in my clothes. I hear, but I cannot listen. Ears carved, created, and controlled in concrete. Collars rest heavy on my neck, flat ironed weights. Weights I bore for everything save this, locked molding immortality. Smiling.