the white man stands
ghost stone
fingerless, two thousand years
eyes un-blind
once painted whore bright
so they say: they
who knew what was
who pimped their God
with stripes of blood
for ugliness is truth
his nose sculpt smooth
by acid rain
a broken Empire's army
mid-step, marches
from museum alcoves
into myth: I come to photo
Caesar, not to bury
heads in book-store dust
