Afternoon of the Icon

It hangs, a Byzantine idolatry,
in the exhibit opposite the entrance,
a pallid humanoid face on a wooden panel
adorned in silver and black and gold,
 
totem, ideogram, aboriginal figment,
 
whose insensible eyes do not engage,
do not engage.
 
Even so,
even so,
out into the galleries of anthropology,
among the cupids, sleeping gypsies,
floating fiddlers, fleeing nymphs,
psychosystems loose about the eras,
 
its eyes pursue,
pursue,
 
among the burghers, shrimp girls,
absinthe drinkers, equestrians,
melon eaters, ladies at their toilets,
saying how,
how is it feasible to be a human,
 
its eyes do not relent,
do not relent.

Oliver Rice | Mudlark No. 41 (2010)
Contents | Of the Cartesian Split