Papa lift me on your shoulder let me reach beyond this cloud
Toss me into the air so that my body can grab my soul
We stole the heat of the sun and blamed God for the cold in our bones

Molded and carved into a shapely
Porcelain statue, to be placed on a pedestal
Gazed upon, up-on their shoulders,
Well raised, ungrazed, untouched,
Behold… Isn’t she beautiful?

Bent necks gazing into bent faiths
Backs leaning over ashtrays counting ash days
Knees kneeling to the glory of a soul keeper, no deeper than a black plate, platonic connections with plastic parts of no real power,