The Curator

He bites down to the nub of being—
Pared down bones bearing flesh,
Wired with the casino strip of stimuli.

Even in circles, there is motion—
Stories weaving muscle
And vice versa;

Such is the act of the curator;
Pleasures and pains
Blurring into one ball of emotion,
Moulding a sense of self
Outside of the three panels of persistence.