sometimes seen hunting
for metal fibres to coil
around glass
hair streaked with henna
hair and hands hardened by
concrete
something elemental about him
that flowed into the artisan
outpourings scattered around.
it was as if the shards with metal
sinews were progenitors . Tiny
capsules from which he came.
how he cradled them
gave that the air.
sure they were on show but, priced not to sell
on show but never untouched
a show
that drew in *******. He worked with rejects.
Affinity perhaps. He surely had nothing
for the **** that was drifting toward him.
Hard faced and beaten; wandering the market
bored of themselves . Hating money moving
without them.
One gestured at broken glass caged in wire.
A whimsy for a small hand.
Waving paper money as an offer. The elements
of him did not move. The flash of blade insisted
Rising. Blade dancing the market hushed.
Maker stood and slowly lifted his shirt.
In the dusty brown of dirt he glared pale.
The blade to the noise of the bearers
procession menaces his face until
light catches the copper sutures
stitching flesh to bone