Sculptures are ghosts.
Your head is an object.
You are an object
in the question, What happened to you?
The animals, just-born, are uniformly
moist, benign. Such glistening skin.
Grown larger, they begin
to hunt each other.
There’s more beyond / but not too much.
This is a study / for a massacre.
We are like everyone unique
infused with the spirit of pain.
And you, one sorry horse’s
severed head some joker fixed
a spire of scintillating crystal to:
what happened to you?