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jaz
Poems
Jul 2020
yours
a sculptor is seated
in front of a mold
clay takes the shape of
a woman’s figure
grooves the size of fingers
make indents over
her frame
she contains no head, arms, legs
gaping holes where clay
has been stolen
makes her existence
fulfilling
the viewer is asked to
take without refrain
the viewer is asked
to own every piece
the viewer is asked
to dispose of what
is deemed unsuitable
Written by
jaz
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