one
of thousands
most
now melted down
He got ripped off
is
all he remembers
and
the breasts a few mls thicker
A thousand pass in front each day
few
pay some respect
avert
their gaze
Fewer mutter things, about Venus
or is
it Artemis?
or
the clean lines of de stijle
(But that is only to impress
those
already bullied
by
the aforementioned size of breast)
Yet something in it stirs
some
Mona Lisa smile
as
if the real is there to taunt
For it symbolizes, despite its nakedness, some
refuse of immortality
some
glimpse of latent beauty
Something that exists so we don’t have to
that we’re
supposed to feel but not
allowed,
despite it all, to see
