Thursday, April 9, 2009

to an artist of body and mind


You are a David of Beauty
Your left hand slightly larger
with blue paint covering your cuticles
and I sense you are a ghost.


You, wiry and intangible,
look with mahogany and I peer under your hat brim,
 hoping to find something
 with which I might crash through
your deftly cut marble
and understand the Goliath you face.


Arrested by your surroundings you
watch quietly, avoiding hands that
held tightly to sides wish to again stroke
the rough surface of your face.

You stand there so close yet
protected on a pedestal which begs
do not
touch

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