I made you of suede


Cracked, weathered, pig-skinned tools

affectionately craft

softest, supple, virgin-hands of suede.


Desert: my mountains,

sky scrapers: your zenith.

Let innocence climb high,

let your suede caress treasures.


Endless, metallic guides of steel,

cradle my priceless work of life,

assure any failure: only a fault of my own,

a greatest mistake: of me, a clone.


In time, you, too, will come to this place:

softest, supple, virgin-hands of suede

churn out

intricate, exotic, hard-willed ivory.


From my rest, I look on

and see our heart of gold will come.

This poem is about: 
My family
My community
My country
Our world


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