Made of Stee]

I stand
and face the wind
feel its rasp and chap
delineate, it feels for me
caresses all my
frame  to find
a weakness
a way  in
blasting at my silhouette
in angriness, in vain,
it will not bend
me  back, nor hone my  edges
down  to fine and supine lines -
my  steely spine will not give up
its upright character.

No.   I am rigidity personified.
Affect my  sides
lacerate my tall
rectangularity, but see
I do not even  waver
from  its manic breathings, howlings,
from  its quivering rage. There
is no sign that it
has power  to make me  sway
or  knock me down.

No.   I will outlast, outlive, outwait
its will to blow, its malign
determination to
wear  me to a shadow
cleanse my  angles all to
flat and satisfactory
horizontal.

No.   It cannot damage me
nor flake my  silver skin but
how  cold I am, how  frozen
with its blasting, how I
quiver  deep within, I suffer
for this space around my  head
this lack,
how  my
longing  is in red, in red.

But obelisk I am
and you  look close
before you can
discern my inner pain.

No.  I am  strong without,
a solid frame concealing
marzipan of soft,
forlorn, but
wear external steel
a fitting skin
so well
that no wind come
inveigle its way in.

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