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Bronze giant, you angelic beast
oh! how you stand there.
When we, the people, so small,
gander in awe at your
mortality.
Stand upon thy vacant river,
stand there in your never-changing emotion
a heroic, stoic state of pure awesome.
Be wary of the wind and the ever-flying gull.
May he regret the moment he did drop on thy limb.

Stand there, oh great one, and let us hear your secret!
No?
Never have your words been spoken,
never will they you speak,
but thy message, by all is known.
At first I've thee known by word of mouth,
but now am taken aback.
The greatness before me stood before many,
as Rhodes did you *****.

Yet
now bewildered we stand,
as I have of thee grown fonder,
just yesterday, here you stood
and now you have but
wondered.
Grabbing hold of the celestial ****,
Our corporeal selves strengthen;
Earthen desires hold reserve
As we wander this severed world.

To desire less is to have more;
You are me and I am you.
We are only separate until we find
The nourishment within we intertwined.
Interpretation of Salvador Dali's "Soft Construction with Boiled Beans (Premonition of Civil War)" (1936)
Now I call You hither come.
And where be You? Refrained from aiding
my belief that does cease. Now become
I one without such. Turn I
away towards the depths of bitter surcease.
             Cease my belief! Oh bitter One,
             Life has come and been undone!
Across the room a figure so calm, so serene
An image that rivals even Mary Magdalene.
Its lips so tender, its heart so pure
A beauty so great that only the gods can endure.
A quivering lip, and a gleaming eye
A brown so deep, men are mystified.
A sparkle so clear, a smile so sharp
A shining so bright it pierces the heart.
A scent so sublime, and skin so fair
No other woman could ever compare.
Those lips did once bear fruit
But through a severed bond,
as vinegar upon your lips,
I cringe at any thought.
Let the body lead the mind
just once
let it wander to the abyss
to the unknown
do not think of what
is to be or is not, but what is.
Then let the heart decide:
if you love me, don't look back,
if not, keep going.
A response to Anne Stevenson's "Vertigo"

— The End —