A bus passes on my way into town
and I shout at its passengers,
“we aren’t well assembled!”
My head quivers.
I stride carefully past merchants
drinking coffee and selling magazines
on the sidewalk’s stark eternal lines.
I can’t talk to them.
I’m overwhelmed by the disfigurement
of flesh in the world of geometry.
So I become an obelisk
standing in a bed of leaves in a park.
I would strangle the town’s small facades,
but I have no arms.
The high moon slinks over me.