Stand
before those Giant feet in sand
the ones forgotten in a foreign land
look upon the shattered visage lying there
'I am Ozymandius King of Kings
Look Upon My Works, ye Mighty and Despair'
remember well when hubris comes to call
we are nothing but a pile of wind blown dust
that's all

Why do mirrors shine in the dying light
If Ozymandius's gleaming bear spray
Delves into the fading autumn leaves
Then apocryphal demise will ensue.

So I ask thee
Where is thoust
When the sicilian chess moves come
We are pawns in this game of life

I guess you can say
The butterfly died

and in the 12th my teacher grade tenderly grabbed my wrist
and said
what is this
and
I said
me
But
that was the wrong answer
he wanted me to say
my —-wrist
he wanted me to say my
MINE

He wanted me to take ownership
of my body
he wanted to acknowledge
Or
He wanted me to acknowledge
that I was
An inside
of a body
And
Not a body
He wanted
Me to think what I just
“mistakenly”
called “me” was just a vessel
To hold “me”
That is it was lent to me and would return
from whence it came
that I was barely or merely or some other kind of “erely” visiting
and
that me and mine were different when it came to body

Such a kindness and autono-motive restoration to remind a person that they are
More
That they are not their looks
or their actions
Or even potential ambulation
I know what he offered me was a kindness

I declined
I said no in my own way
If you’re wondering
What I said was “you are what you eat”

I still don’t know what I meant
If I meant

and I’ll ozymandius myself
If I claim to be more than this

I am crumbling, but I will stand tall on these broken feet

As soon as I can fix my posture