Wednesday, April 30, 2008

Incomplete figure (the poem)

By Francis Scudellari

An incomplete figure, he stands
Before, self-mocking mannequin
Un-wholly cobbled together,
Invented in-human partner

Steel wire ribs ringed round hollow core,
Naked half-shape silhouetted
On confined walls, soul company
Oft-visited in cramped workshop

Its minded floor strewn with stray parts,
Pulled from dusted shelves, odd pieces
That he attaches, appraises,
Then soon sad discards; starts over

Curve of an arm, pointed elbow
Elegant fingers, marble knee,
Countless recalled countenances,
Un-inventoried memories

Passerby's smile, friend's crinkled nose,
The glint of re-imagined eyes
He projects on glassy oval,
Spins through mismatched combinations

This blank slate never sparked to life,
He new wipes clean, till it mirrors
Now creased face, twin dying portals
Leading down to his own gnawed gap
Post a Comment