Readers are asked to send a note of any misprints or mistakes that they spot in this poem to support@standmagazine.org

This poem is taken from Stand 225, 18(1) March - May 2020.

Jack Donahue Unsculpted
Unsculpted

As long as I have you
I will chisel stone into flesh,
eat cucumber slices off your eyes,
toss smooth stones off your back,
peel mud from your face,
return all to earth,
then remove the tissue stays
between your toes.

Who knows anything about living art,
not the marblehead muse of some Caesar
propped on a fluted pillar,
nor the corrupt king
embossed on a bronze medallion

The preservation of static beauty is a noble myth.

I prefer to hold you this moment
in my failing arms,
to be held accountable
to a heart that beats,
a mouth that roars,
eyes that blink,
skin that breathes,
considered with a mind
that cuts through stone and steel,
posts every law of beauty
to the mast, lashed,
beaten by the storm’s rage
against our age,
the timelapse of passion flowers
blooming,
the weight of the world
being held together
in each other’s arms.

This poem is taken from Stand 225, 18(1) March - May 2020.

Readers are asked to send a note of any misprints or mistakes that they spot in this poem to support@standmagazine.org
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