Saturday, July 2, 2011

The Boy Who Loved Michelangelo

It was said that he had the face of a god

Yet some saw a demon with rope shoes

And a twist of vine encircling locks

Veins ran his marble arms that sang blood

Scoring mountains as a mist permeating

A crack in the heart and a golden sling

He fashioned in ways we cannon dream

With razor scraping the rump of need

Exposing muscle of love not gleamed

We are the buffalo a dying breed

Hauled in carts magnificent bone

Shame an ecstasy none can own

Slaves embrace as wisdom groans

Volumes of nothing written in stone

-Patti Smith

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