Deborah Cox


Michaelangelo's David Replies - Poem by Deborah Cox

Nobody traced a sonnet with any other view
than the intense one I cast on him I pitied and then slew -
that loving mix of mercy with a hint of disgust
which is the mark of someone who's marbled out of dust.

He said no rhyme could satisfy - time has too rough a skill
to halt the pressured arc of youth un-flexed to flex the kill;
that there's no meter indented enough to make more real
the imprint of a pair of thighs my fingertips can feel;

yet the surface of his skin wasn't left, by marks that did not press
up against the paper of being, impermeably undressed;
and his body did not harden to a nib that did not rest
upon the blank sheet of nothing with nothing to express

unless un-flesh could flesh the life to feel; still he could not say
‘Unlike black marks un-masking white, I only turn one way.'


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Poem Submitted: Sunday, March 23, 2014

Poem Edited: Thursday, October 16, 2014


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