January 7, 2013

skipping the verse with my instincts going straight to the chorus, because it pleases you best...

painting ‘Venus at Her Mirror’ by Diego Rodriguez de Silva y Velazquez

the set up was mostly an accidental letting down of your hair

on the corner
all the martyrs
and the preachers
that listened
are now pushcart
tube-meat salesmen
salamis, mortadellas
and blood puddings
emotionally wound and
stuffed in intestines

they are sold 
bundled with a drink
to carry in a basket
of tucked goodies
some felt cloth
over silver
and some wax
for burning
into midnight
as other poems,
ideas, thoughts
and or songs
come ready to eat

I approach
the dark
folded parts
of evening
like I do
a memory of morning
with twilight turning
the gloaming 
into a skin
that clocks can
dream about

we will wait 
on through the Dawn
going over our
combed surrenders
hoping to catch
glimpses of something
in tortoise shell glow
flicker weave yellow
orange and red


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