Barroom beams.

  "Bow low to the cello, French horn & bellows." Her songs barrel in the barroom beams.   Her Samba unravels. She learned in the mirror the poems of Brazilian queens.   The elegant prose, she hones all through winter, is wreathed in magic & music & dreams.         collage & acrylic … Continue reading Barroom beams.

everything unpainted

  unfolded sheets and cornered pages, cobalt, rising from the blanket, found a world within the drawer -   everything unpainted.   the velour shadow of the curtain, quiet and thin and barely moving, bows before the wounded evening -   everything unpainted.      

hinge of laughter.

some memory of blue clay, of buttered gorse, jutting bayonet of flint, half-hidden, always just an inch away,   this very, very evening, returned again, beleaguered, beached and batchelor: palm of secret, saddened gems.   the following adornments remain abandoned on the tidal floor waiting for me to discover them -   a glass of sand, a special … Continue reading hinge of laughter.

re: ancient civilisations.

this autumn morning, the same, almost so, as several in childhood, spent trying not to watch the bowl of oats and milk cooling on the sill. "waiting," he told me, "is a patient game." watching vapours reach for the ceiling.   "the ancient greeks made shields from porridge. or was it the polynesians?"   he … Continue reading re: ancient civilisations.

Mirror (1-3).

I rarely see myself in the day mirror anymore, having learned to disappear myself. The day mirror has become my third eye. The day mirror allows me to become magnificent, mercurial. I enter and leave it at will. Within its frame, I free range and, despite being close enough to kiss your ear, I look … Continue reading Mirror (1-3).