Snap the arms from this sculpture,
Create art;
Pin the wings of this butterfly,
Beauty preserved;
Plunge a skull in formaldehyde,
Declare genius;
Map cardiographs of heartbeats,
Pronounce life.
Must, then, my tears in their solitude
Define nothing?
And so my love in fierce impotence
Mother wasteland?
As my loins seep with futility
Staining mercy,
On the lace thong of history
Blemish secrets.
Yet for you all my travesties
Merit purpose;
And my...
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