In my home, on the hill, there is a mannequin that stands,

whole in place while living in a naked American dream-like state.

I find him just beyond the narrow leap pad stairs, my David,

in his best shape. With his rusted metal plate from the leaky floor

& looks that seems carved into perfection, he is there, held in time

like an early 2000s movie star. I shake his hand in hopes to visualize 

the most strikingly perfect attire for occasional events that never 

happened but will someday be a moment.

Delmar Daystar