Inspired by original poetry:

The blade of your scalpel, effaces the roughness of damp clay, 

its sharp body, willingly, under the influence of 

your hands, dappled in violence, 

speckling the oxygenated entrails of air, onto 

the tissues of earth’s pavement. 

The moldability of clay’s spine 

was the subject of jealousy: for when 

the expected was agony, it was fluidity, it was whirling under 

your finger prints, smiling that sly smile. 

Its power, derailed.