Grotesquerie:
The Virgin of the Musée Cluny
She meditates there, still, on her harsh stone plinth,
Her bug eyes suffering from thyroid disease
Above this theophany to the nth
Degree. The little doll-like effigies
Revealed by golden doors which form her chest
Are bunched into a Crucifixion scene
Where, white, a virgin’s heart should be. Her breast
Encloses small absurdities. The Queen
Of Heaven and Mother of God to be
Is stuffed, quite like a clock-work turkey; filled
Like a Christmas stocking crammed with agony,
Apostles and the local sculptors guild.
Her womb is non-existent, at a loss,
…..And emptied by that tiny man, that cross.