Like The Dream Of The Dismembered Statue Poem by Sebastian Priotese

Ossified by eons,
you dream imperfection's white noise
and the maddening drone of the
eternal brokenness,
like a Venus from Milo
after a sex-change operation.
Nightlights, these mad parishioners
of all the lidless gods
carve out your face and fall in fervor
at your feet - like any god that has
a shred of respect for himself,
you remain deaf to their screeches.
Although you created them, you'd like
nothing more than ripping their craniums
with your bare hands because they dared
expose your face in cobwebbed patterns of
light.