Ozymandias, Percy Bysshe Shelley
"stamped on these lifeless things"
Hot and guarded these people pack
the metro car, lenient on muffled
bags and elbows stamped to backs.
We launch forward and the unanimous sway
of shoulders jostles the siding.
This is what it feels like to be a body--
a jittery fragment of nerves and stretching
muscles caught in movement.
And like a quick jerk of a leg split
backwards, this is a fracture--the crash
and splatter of a male face to glass,
where the guy whose hand drills
deeper in his cheek, lips pop
hard words and the jagged syllables carve
through the high hum of propulsion.
What is opposite of apparition?
What describes my need to suddenly undo
the press of my presence inches his concave face?
What happens when the boughs weigh
so heavy with the push of petals that the black
cracks, reveals the sinewed light inside?
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