Monumental Art
Feb 4 2017


The patina of rust 
was beautiful.
And more animal, than rock;
its curved forms
so oddly organic 
in such hard unbending stuff.
Weathered steel
I know is permanent
yet seems nearly without weight.

The brown was soft
and warm as well-worn cloth,
subtle shades 
of light, and dark
that made me want to touch.

Left to the elements
a  sculpture that  will always remain 
unfinished,
its patina changing
in a process of graceful decay
we live too fast to notice.

But still, towering over me
it feels essential, structural
a thing’s indestructible core.
Like the disinterred bones
of colossal animals
that once bestrode the earth.
Like the steel frame
of a bombed-out building 
still standing after the war.

Until the slow burn of rust
saps its strength.
Until the surface crumbles, core honeycombs-out.
Until the moment in time
dead-weight 
takes it down.