Idly they stand in front of her, contemplating. A naked silhouette without a face, a testament to times old and new. She would not present herself in such a veneer of composure were she more indifferent to gazes. Vulnerable, but her confidence is crystalline; there has never been a better time for a broken goddess to walk among mere mortals. To recline in thin air with such grace and simplicity. “Stop. Talk to me. Where are you going?” She demands, unafraid to show her needs. Just as if this quality were her greatest strength. We have a lot to learn. This city will engulf her swan song, and she’s fine with it.
“Look at me. Stop looking at me. Look at me. Stop looking at me.” True form lies within this contradiction. “I’ve never been at Vernon and Broadway.” Furrows announce that this yard will not be stilled. In time, they shall see that shape sprouts from what there is. No gap between the crevices, only beauty. But she knew this all along, this torso in torsion, this queen of Queens, the Venus of Astoria.Words