Hand Job In The Sistine Chapel Poem by Alexandre Nodopaka
Hand Job In The Sistine Chapel
I am inadequately cunning
to watch my tongue
nor hear its muffled sound
in your holy obscured places.
I'd rather be a Cherub or French.
They speak their arcane dialect
from ceilings and temples of love.
They have no need for language.
Their gestures do the job just fine.
My spirituals needs are easily inspired.
Visually.
Sunday, September 13, 2009
Topic(s) of this poem: pome
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9/19/2024 7:00:15 AM # 1.0.0.1119
