"…I felt like Oppenheimer or something. What have I done? Because it’s going
to need high security all its life." Damien Hirst’s on his artwork, For the Love of God, 2007
Our god is uncanny, pixelated
in its effigy antics, elated for
this shimmering, crusted skull--
8,601 flawless diamonds and a
pear-shaped pink one, third
eye of the forehead, technical
refinement by hired hands.
A concept is a concept is a
commodity. On a dare, our god forged
toothy marketplace of forbidden
fruit. No one to blame.
God’s way to animate
another exquisite corpse
for our laps, each gem-stud
making its claim for punchline.
Platinum cast of a lucky 18th
century chap who got to keep
his teeth that held a pipe, chewed
on penny loaf. Hollow man
immortalized by hollow man for
50 million pounds in auction.
Our god smirks behind a two-way
mirror, slow time holds us
in the drop jaw of still life.
Luminous decay, market shelves
bloated, over-ripe and spoiling.
Rikki Santer: "My poetry has appeared in various publications including Ms. Magazine, Poetry East, Slab, [PANK], Crab Orchard Review, RHINO, Grimm, Hotel Amerika and The Main Street Rag. My work has received many honours including five Pushcart and three Ohioana book award nominations as well as a fellowship from the National Endowment for the Humanities. My eighth collection, Drop Jaw, was published this spring by NightBallet Press."
The Ekphrastic Review
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