The hand held the wood
Like a father hold the babe
From crown to arse
Tenderly shaved away
The previous existence
With a sharp blade
Do babes bring any history with them?
Do we strip them clean
Polish them with our love
No mater how faulty it might be?
His eyes were carved first
So that he might see the face
Of his father
His mouth carved last
For words create a distance
Between the hearts of those
We love
The fingers were terrible
To master
The nose was not endowed with grace
Perhaps that is why it is remembered
The thing never mentioned is the genitalia
Did the wooden boy pee?
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