Perhaps an artisan’s chisel and hammer
may deconstruct the carefully concealed façade
Revealing rivulets of imperfection
mayhemically scarring limestone
The chert, befouling exquisite slate
by its mere existence and presence
Swirling impurities metamorphosed
from pressurized, complicatized layers
A frantic fractality of feints
fragmented for misdirection and survival
To some, presumptive beauty in stagnant veining,
forever frozen by its lusterless repose
But like the statue that exists in every
block of marble, his irrelevance is ever there;
You need only to hew away the
rough walls to reveal it
