I. Galatea

our steel soared
where wings of wax once fell
filling our lungs with florescent light
we made God in our image

algorithm above!
40 floors up!
each night, this elevator ascent…

but what was beauty without tension?

I saw love in a shutter’s wink
in mirrored symmetry and cigarette smoke

I saw 1000 eyes and 1000 noses
knowing both everything and nothing

I saw great infernal wings
ascetic mantras blown from burgundy lips

on my descent I remembered the question
We aimed high, but could we aim higher?

some days I wish I’d answered differently