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Untitled 4/1/09

April 6, 2009

I am not just a thing,
a workman’s horse
or a heavy sledgehammer,
brought on hot steel

I am as soft and brutal as Athena Nike’s
hewn stone,
a ballast to center the ornaments of her time,
thinking freely around all obstacles and shames.

I appear the hard-edged, sharp rendering
of skeptic seduction,
foul and graceful and
pointed right at your weakness-

focused.

prime.

an origin of perversions,
if you slipped you’d be sure to land
on something wet.

But you are easily deceived,
just like all the others.

You mistake the relish of attention
for lust,
the ambition of love
for basic instincts

far too simple,
but I’m willing to allow it,
as long as you stay gentle,
appeased,
rapt.

But you anger me, only as
you doubt my intentions

You may not see my fullness,
but as you can be sure the moon is there
only wrapped partially by the light,
you can feel my imagination gliding
there, hidden,
weary
of strangers.

To think of all that
Wonder and Beauty
mistaken for greed,

You have abused my trust.

But I have to ask,
do you even get the joke?

I doubt it.
You may have lost me,
just so.
Quietly.

I wonder if your faith
can be charmed back

just long enough
for you to see what I mean.

Just enough
to laugh
before I take you down
and render you shocked,
soiled,
delighted,
incomplete.

Yes,
you are waiting,
and I am smiling in my sleep,
alone.

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