Great noble heads and fragments of heads
And fragments of torsos.
Every piece holy
From severed hands, plump as pigeons
To expansive noses inhaling the perfume of Nirvana.
Why go on?
Because they went on so I went on
To an arm buried to its wrist
To a head set in a nimbus of roots
Each refusing to comment on its predicament.
As, for example, why it was left behind while others/
To apartments on Fifth Avenue and around the Parc/
Some heads are arranged in rows like chessmen.
Arms and legs, stacked like cords of wood.
A few odd pieces were set flush against a wall
That was only a memory of a wall.
A few black goats completed the tableau.
Begun at Ayuthaya, outside Bangkok, 1991.