I can just see the statue’s face
The palm leaves are stabbing
Resting on its Ionic pedestal
Between two potted desert roses
Thinking its no-thought
Its eyes unfocused
A twelve year old boy or girl
I’m never sure
But there are scalloped wings
Coming out of the sides of its head
So it doesn’t matter anymore
By what lover or horror
It was transfixed
Or in what hour
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