No matter how perfectly executed
Papier-mâchè betrays its paper
Revealing text torn from its context
And pasted into forms foreign and new
Prose divorced from their origin
Hiding beneath the paint and glitter
Among these million orphaned words
By chance one may serve the sculpture
But will never reveal what it means
For it was never meant to
-T. Weeks
(A response to “Proudly the Flood Comes In”)