your prosthesis

watches me at work

painting a world

which would render

your prosthesis

useless

does this mean i call yours void?

does this mean your prosthetic self

as a painted man

makes no sense in my work?

yes!

now there are no tables to be waited upon

and no rooms to be served 

with your sleeping body arrested in dream

neither is there dust

nor waste

only a visitation

in a harbor of snow

a puritanical whiteness

over the view

which is in effect

a sudden dread