Mere Replication by Victor Marrero



The more life is given, 
the more it wants to take away. 
Its rending always rattles, 
most insistent for the original
when mere replication will not do. 
You wanted more than sculpture 
to turn faulty clay into flesh, 
the earth’s full bounty 
open to the sky. 
I had reason to withhold. 
So your handicap from the start:
not apprehending why I halted revelation 
at the borderline of heartbreak 
from headlong reason in decline


In the downfall, my vengeance 
called for harsh reprisal. 
The fault was yours. 
The final call was mine. 
Now a fractured earth tears itself apart, 
your exiled tribes drawn against mine
seeking justice in liberation. 

In the dry ducts of your eyes, a tear. 
There the mischief of misrepresentation
reveals itself, perceiving perfect order 
even in all that the world, 
itself turned upside down,
sustains unmade and disarrayed.
A rebel’s insistent Why 
struck deep inside a stolen glance 
discerns the lie. It shudders, 
glistens, breaks down, 
as if its sighting of life’s fixation 
with illusion and bondage 
mirrored an eyeful meant 
to see and relate misfortune. 

Much unclaimed art resides in unfinished marble.
A passage crossing through the quarries 
of mountain gods exacts the higher fare. 
Pay the price. Hew the path of no return, 
no regret. But first, 
cut your losses with a diamond. 
Chip the harder rock and be done with it.

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