David

Michelangelo slew the
pre-Renaissance with a soft,
white chunk of rain-battered rock.
His sling was over two years
long, and with a wind-up thrust
out naked marble, church-bound,
Florentine. Large stone hands, bare
feet upon the ground, well-hung
giant-killer slung over
his shoulder—young man’s weapon;
all paused, awaiting his wars—
Philistines bearing fig leaves,
men and wives yet to conquer—
before he displeased the Lord.

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