Sculpture Poem by chayamsu v r
Sculpture
the face
in its self being,
gets hard,
like the blackstone.
talks with display
of one rhythm,
of sole sentiment,
0f same dialect.
not turning the head
to the calls from behind,
defying the calss heard ahead,
and the smiles seen before
with a look, strict,
to the infinite.
the face in its
self being
sets hard
like the mortar.
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5/1/2024 5:06:06 PM # 1.0.0.1119
