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