No time for intimate introductions,

I simply have no name.

I am a busted lip,

a bruised back bone,

a scraped knee.

My image is not always as beautiful

as the inner contents of my mind.

My thought is not always as luminous and simple

as its outer shell.

I am a lingering headache,

insignificant epiphanies,

the result of immoral divine intervention.

I am most alluring through his secret eyes  

and false fantasies.

I will live forever by the virtue of art.