whittle your images

and splinter them with an ax,

bash them with a hammer.

cut your stones, build your city,

and demolish its walls.

shred the photo from 1992.


i am a broken god,

a ruined city,

bits of curled matte

in the office recycle bin.

holy hell, my skin, 

the only holy hell.


your fixed gaze on my

unfixed, hallowing body.

your smoldering eye

turns me to liquid silver.


you see my many bodies,

but do not desire

ever-hardened faces.

i am new, and still

you recognize me.

you hold my plastic form

in your ever-softening gaze.