The strings of my soul
Layed bare before you
Strike them, instruments for your expression
Let me be layed bare
A canvas stretched
The barest threads of your straighted brush
Laid, coarse
To expose the burnished bone
And give unto the wind
That which escapes
The archeology of this moment.

Pit ever winnowing edges
At the borders of my spirit
Exorcise the vestiges of my belief
I am an object
Lesson to your pupil
See now what you have wrought
Amongst me. Do I reflect?

My wonder pitted and scarred
by your meteor(ic)


I am consumed
Buffed, I lay in sheltered casement
this glowing trophy
In the museum of your vict'ry.

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