I’ll have a limit
a gimmick
a level
and a chisel
something to chip away at
and a degree of difficulty
a naked gesture featured
divine
without wings
posed in an eternity of
wanting to come to life
fluttering about the museum
in heavy marble agony
like an overweight cherub
with too much chocolate
on his muscles
and candy stuck
to his feathers
I’ll have Gordian knots
tied around his boots
in bows
fabulous oils and stains
for his jeans becoming flesh
something to absorb the mess
like a dirty shirt
he loves taking off
but never washing
(like you)
He’ll move with
insect suddenness
slithering
sliding
unwinding stealthily
ready to strike
creating himself in the image
of what nature waits patiently
for him to mutate into
existing in
the electric shockwaves
that resonate
between the thalamus
and the cortex
in every sensory relay
from Kether to Malkuth
from zero to two
and from me to you
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