So many imperfections cobbled together.
Is it supposed to be a man?
Or a work of modern art?
Does it feel at odds with the world?
Does it feel at all?
Project your feelings on it.
Make it a deal and trade it a wish.
It is ethereal. It is human.
It is the last time you heard I love you.
It is disappointed and death.
It is community and longing.
In the end it is whatever you make of it.
It is imperfect. It is life.
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