Ghazal

I am calling your bones back
with your fugitive face

through nocturnal cityscapes
where the moon is a novelty

I am calling your name back
through the loudspeaker

saying Goodbye goodbye
over aisles of bent worshippers

Damaged goods Send them back
The change will do you good

You the prototype of beauty
posing for second drafts

You the ape in uniform letting
scientists sit on your lap

You the cut of meat dubbed
Survivor behind the glass