For You, Marina Abramovic

Standing for six hours, an exhibit,
Seventy-two objects on the table,
Feathers, razors, knives, flowers, water, and a gun,
Were you not afraid of what they would do?

They made you sit,
So they could abuse and humiliate;
Slowly magnified the torture,
Attached things to your body,
Touched you to feel your skin tremble,
Used a razor to lacerate your neck,
Excoriated your tender breasts.
Did their glee mitigate your pain?

Experimenting with your garments,
Tearing up parts till you were naked,
Enjoying your shame.
Curiosity: arousal: masochism: BDSM:
Call it what you will,
It was nothing but savagery
Of man against his species.

Not content, not satiated,
Pointed a loaded gun to your head,
These common folks stuck rose thorns to your bosom,
Drove a knife between your legs.
They grew frenzied towards the end,
Searching for ways to hurt you more,
A gradual spiral of cruelty.
Were they ugly perverts in ordinary garb,
Looking for some distraction from boring lives?

Now, what lies inside has been revealed,
The cruelty lurking inside us.
Admire your courageous performance artistry,
Not even once did you flinch.
When they treated you as an object,
Why didn’t you,
Defend? Defend? Defend? Defend?
Like any human being would.

(Performance artist Marina Abramovic stood for six hours subjecting herself to an array of instruments of love and hatred. Sadly, people chose hatred.)