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.

Disjointed. Harsh.

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.

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