Corpus


by Pavel Chichikov

He is, the same, both bronze and flesh

A corpus and a corpse, a slave

To Earth, free Man

No more alive than silicon and jasper

Yet He burns as slow flesh can

Until he dies and lives

I have seen a copper statue sleep –

Coma and disfiguration

Once-poured stone

I have seen His sides heave breath

His ribs expand

That were still cold and rigid

He breathes good metal molten,

Nine parts copper

One of tin

What is this metal artifact

This cold inert immortal

On a scaling cross?

He is the artisan of His own dust

The One who first made me

When I was ore

Now slough off the patina

That turns red flesh to green

Dead flesh to oxide to a skin

Bend and come alive, see

The stone-cold corpus on the cross descend

And be a Man

Visit Pavel's website at Grey Owl Press.

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