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First there was magic,
pure bulls
walking the walls of Lascaux,
bull leapers in Knossus.

Then worship, altars
raised to heaven,
to earth;
Aphrodite sailing
her shell-white body,
Christ ascending
on his cruciplane.

And then perfection
worshipped as magic:
Phidias caressing marble thighs,
Michelangelo creating
David’s consummate curve.

Now we bow before
subway canvasses
posed on pompous walls;
the id-beast loosed,
numbering the earth.

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