Deconstructing Human

He must be hard work.

One voice lifts boom
high with stage light;
Panel, pinned in the jaws
of another sound bite.

Applause fades,
shuffled chairs grate
against an ingrained
seasoned lecture floor;

side glances,
soft murmurs,
my quiet rage soars.

Look away, your gaze
finds stain on fine
crackled porcelain.

Keep your glass paper
praise, lest you graze
his surface, abrade
time formed glaze
to pitted clay coil.

Don't seek your
reflection in his Shine.
He is complete, sublime;

Child, Heart, Boy.

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