in a smoke filled room
"Ozymandias" by Percy Bysshe Shelley
Read by Bryan Cranston
I met a traveller from an antique land
Who said: Two vast and trunkless legs of stone
Stand in the desert. Near them, on the sand,
Half sunk, a shatter’d visage lies, whose frown,
And wrinkled lip, and sneer of cold command,
Tell that its sculptor well those passions read
Which yet survive, stamped on these lifeless things,
The hand that mocked them and the heart that fed:
And on the pedestal these words appear:
“My name is Ozymandias, king of kings:
Look on my works, ye Mighty, and despair!”
Nothing beside remains. Round the decay
Of that colossal wreck, boundless and bare
The lone and level sands stretch far away.
Walk, 2013, oil on paperboard, 15” x 21”
i think i am what happens
when a sentimental heart is treated
very kindly very sparingly.
i haven’t been shattered into a million little girls
all staring in glass mirrors at each other
and wondering how they could take up the same space.
i think i’m what happens
after a culmination of boys who never
got close enough to swell my heart with blood
still pumping away in its bird cage,
waiting patiently and singing sad
lullabies about how it aches to be broken.