[13-Sept-2003]
I am not a piece of marble
& your parts are still a marvel
to me, when you blink your eyes and see
a reflection of a person,
a projection of a hearse
in unillumined transit.
The carvings of your rugburns
and the glisten of your lovely
nest you'll keep.
But how did your claws grow strong?
Who stretched you an edge?
Are you a knapsack
or a knack for chopping wood?
There is no measure of bad or good.
You lie across the lines
and your putty of a person will weep & die.
But look upon yourself to think of why.