notes of a plastinate


Artless form was I -
Fumbling for keys
Struggling with bags and doors
Uneven footpaths
Noisy halls

So brief was I -
Hushed so long
Stopped so soon
But now

Standing, quartered and drawn
In immortal plastination
Exposing my beautiful
Cogs for the world to look through


© Brendan Bonsack
April 2013