Fatima Al-Shermary, The MASTER Piece

I have perfected it.

 

One cylinder for both my eyes

To see–

\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\\

The kind of thing that walks on water, the feet

Untouchable as the thing behind the screen,

The eye

Unseen

The face an absent, wax

mannequin doll.

 

Melt down the vinyl

My candlewax husband

 

(Do you trust me?)

 

[Will you] Endow me with the sockets of your eyes?

The beds of your nails?

The end of your roots?

 

Your sour odor

Will be remembered for eternity,

eternity,

eternity,

eternity

eternity

eternity,

eternity

 

In time, the skin on the candle

The pungent breath melts will start

To consume

all

in

its

path.

 

And I will be smiling.

I am far too young to die

At half a milleniummillennium.

 

Soon, I will cut everything in half.

How wasteful

To allow such undivided oneness to reign.

 

No more itself-ness necessities.

\Chocolates\ broken \up \into \twelves\

Shared among many

Who watch me unwrap myself

Fresh from the factory:

 

“Ladies, gentlemen,

Here are my glass eyes

My mechanical limbs

My clockwork hands.”

 

“I work, just like the rest of you.”

Divided and united into One Master Piece.

This product was no careless calculation.

 

~They steamed out

The loves in me they deemed impure~

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

I was so pure and empty after that.

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

 

Pure and empty as a vacant bell jar.

This time, I responded when they called

And called

and called

and called.

 

Breathing

Is a privilege, abused by all.

Only those such as I know how to do it right.

 

I breathe so that [It works.]

I breathe so [It will not burst.]

It’s not every day

Perfection comes to life

>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>And stays that way.

 

It is too sacrilegious to share It among men.

It is too sacred to [keep It to Itself.]

 

Didactic.

 

Fear insolence in the stark black night.

I do not visit the same place twice

For mere amusement.

 

“A clockwork angel!”

 

The cry stops me.

 

The deadened cry.

 

The memory of a whimper that squeaks

—————————————————–> On the surface of my bronzed metal skin.

 

Indeed, it does linger for eternity.

 

And it grows LOUDER

and LOUDER 

and LOUDER

and LOUDER 

and LOUDER.

andLOUDER

 

For a piece of my glass eye to >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>CR\ACK

Bronze armored limbs to>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>> SH\ATT/ER

Clockwork hands to >>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>>STOP \DEAD.

 

My\ divided\ One\ness \destroyed.

 

My \pure\ emptiness \filled,

 

R

U

i

N

e

d

 

A pile of nothing, of everything.

Now soft and malleable enough to to mold into a thing of organic means, of something filled, changeable, of something that breathes and moves with a purpose.

 

Ah, ah, ah.

 

I wake with laughter, with water bursting from the cracks in the eyes.

Clockwork hands with birds on the fingers, bronze limbs covered with tenacious ivy, mechanical lungs full of impure breath.

 

Dear men, Dear angels,

This is the beginning, this is the beginning.

Do not compare. From a pile of nothing

>>>>>To a silent prayer.

I embrace ONENESS with a lungful of air.

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