He has been on his feet
since the purple of dawn
An artist hunched over the
canvases of open bodies,
employing his scalpels and retractors
like paintbrushes and chisels
He is an organic visionary
who dreams of pastel bones, of clay flesh
He is mercifully dedicated
to the soulful monuments
who set themselves at his hands
and sleep until their murals are complete
When the lights of his studio dim,
he removes the smock smeared with scarlet
He washes off pallets of tissue and skin
and exits the Operating Room suite,
already musing about the human monuments
he has yet to be inspired by
By Fae Kay, ©2020
See more of Fae Kay’s Poetry here.
