Blockheads

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BLOCKHEADS


The fear—as close as I can make it 

out—is that the sculptor, having freed


the face, will then proceed 

to fall in love with the chisel 


and the knife, the secret method

for mastering cheekbones,


peculiar twist of the wrist

sure to render the ripples of the hair 


just so. The fear, as so, is fair 

enough, if also a likely culprit 


for the increasing mass kicking back 

their chairs not to find better


instruction but to crowd the studio 

exit, taking to the streets in search


of a pair of eyes that will return the gaze.


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