A poem I wrote in response to the sculpture called “Suffering” by Constantin Brancusi.
Two hollow caverns
Resulting in absent slimy white spheres
That cause the evolution of unnatural movement.
Forced to draw a right angle whose
Direction becomes a guide from blindness
And when oriented the nostril glacier’s
Icicles melt into an overflowing jar.
Where the liquid spills, forming a
Puddle of organs:
The flesh of thoughts,
And the blood hearts of ideas,
Which drip through the cracked floor
Burning away the strings bound to the blind.
Ropes of smoke equating to
The evaporation of bondage.
Not an illusion,
But an illusion of perception.
Slowly falling away into
Showers of blood hearts
Raining through the kitchen tiles.
A million particles.
A million droplets.
The blind has severed physical relations
Forcing a painful disintegration
Of breaking down to a microscopic felt space.
A Transformation into an existence which is no longer solid.