Sculpting Life

“It is purely a routine procedure”
This ordinary pounding:
pestering an ice block
to transform into
an embedded mold
of sculpted water.

Freezing on a two-by-two feet pedestal:
Eyes numb with incessant twinkling
Cheeks, a soggy blue
A chiseled smile, dyed a deep red by ruthless patience.
Serene artists lacerate my foundation:
hack a throbbing spirit
till there’s not a beat of heat left.

“It is merely a regular habit
for progress
in any time, you see.”
The perpetrators reveal in whispers,
warm lips burning against my glacial ear
curling into existence.

“...simply for progress of mankind…
survival… you see”
The whispery utterance resounds in slurry
waves trapped in my frozen form.

They fashion my fingers,
flick my melting fingertips
as they plant a kiss in the depression
of my palms.

His deft tools style
the fullness of my knees,
carving the arc of my
icy calf.

Another’s carve my right eye-lid,
the curve of the left eye;
Spiked eyelashes – white and still.

Merely a routine procedure:
this beating a creature
into shape.

Merely a custom:
this steady pestering;
in the ear, over the knee,
under the trembling shade of the palm.