The Sculptor by Thomas Piekarski

Once I drew the conclusion that love is a loosely

officiated charade, I pooh-poohed any notion

of ever being worthy of redemption. I felt I’d

broken just about every rule any God had set out

and didn’t deserve their rewards. Nevertheless

I needed something to lessen the pain my broken

heart constantly dwelled on. I tried fashioning

my own God out of brain waves, but that was

nothing but a dud. I bought heavy work boots

and trampled vacant lots like Paul Bunyan just

to let off a little steam. I spoke several languages

fluently to myself, which made me feel a bit better.

I employed carrier pigeons to convey messages

to my cosmic wife, but she never returned them.

I often stood erect in my private Eden for hours

taking notes on invisible angels. I would chronicle

their every action, name and classify each one.

Paratroopers fell like fireflies in big bright helixes

carrying payloads from continents I may one day

want to try on for size. Why had the street become

so sloshy, and how was it the sun had grown dull?

I got to thinking perhaps the porpoises deserved

a break. But I could not provide it myself because

I held no sway over nature, similar to dipping my

toe into an inferno. I felt guilty about trespassing

sacred ground. But then nothing is sacred anymore,

so you couldn’t rightly accuse me of encroachment.

Oddly, I became popular due to my unusually dour

demeanor, and the press was after me day after day,

hounding me, collected at my front gate. All I wanted

was to be left alone in my sculpture garden to chisel

serenity of the very highest degree from dark matter.

When I go to sleep tonight I think I’m going to dream

about shooing pterodactyls away with redwood trees.

Thomas Piekarski is a former editor of the California State Poetry Quarterly, as well as Associate Editor ofImpact magazine and The Literary Monitor. His poetry and interviews have appeared in dozens of literary journals internationally, including Nimrod, Portland Review, Mandala Journal, Cream City Review, Poetry Salzburg, Boston Poetry Magazine, The Journal, Gertrude, and Annapurna. He has published a travel book,Best Choices In Northern California, and Time Lines, a book of poems. He lives in Marina, California.

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