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