Arne Weingart

Giacometti Nail

I found you

under some gravel

I was raking

into something

less unlevel

than gravity demands a tenpenny nail

eaten away at by what you no longer hold together

not one smooth circular surface remains only

a near infinite set

of ridges and planes and sometimes nearly nothing connecting you

to yourself

the only thing inarguably left is

a kind of

nailish intent

a proposition about what it might mean to be a nail

although it’s clear you wouldn’t survive another meeting

with a hammer

you have become merely beautiful absolutely essential completely useless this is what

I want to be

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