Dead Body

Dead Body

Where the mountain dumps

its lava lipped edges

into behemoth bulbous warships

floating just beyond the reach of man,

a man of stone sleeps.

A shepherd lost for centuries

with vacant eyes dead

yet he sees more than I.

Leonardo robe ragged now

propelled by a painted wind

Sistine quiet he is the incense of history

if only I could know his story

for he surely knows mine.

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