We
are fast lane statues eroding towards life. We
are photographs of statues under recognition's summons yet freshly guarding what
is out of frame. We
are handout flyers of statues, looking for empty hands, curious minds, even
glances, at times. We,
as statues, are handshakes and embraces away from meeting our true selves
reflected in long time friends and deep well lovers who reveal us to our own
eyes. Birds of good fortune lands on us statues and still feel like they are
flying. Weather embellishes and erodes us statues often one outer layer at a
time. We are sometimes figurines of ourselves in a world overlarge with
impressions. We could pass as self-effigies if others truly knew, or hide out
as icons, imprisoned in the cast. We
are the mold to represent the uniqueness of a work of art. Statues, everso
slow-swiftly, we are coming
to
life . . .
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