MISALLIANCE Structures sacred in stroke time- Now, why are they no good to me. I want to make something when Recalled not imagined but memory Eludes me? I hear the mumble Of my own tongue. The painters Vision is a lens, it trembles to caress my sight. Everything I write is the bare- thread art of eye. Shot-snap, grouped life on high, un-balanced paralyzed fact misalliance. ‘yet why not say what happened’, Robert Lowell said. Pray for the accuracy of grace. Giving rise to the suns illumination Yearning, stealing like a tide Across a map, solid, passing poor Facts. To give each figure in the photo A living name. #191 on top 500 poets
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THE SITTER For Vincent Blue and golden, red and brown your flesh color shines through. Translucent like those piercing eyes that look from you. Vincent this is for you, my painted words. I hope this shows you in a light That you are used to, Van Gogh Van Goff how we pronounce is Nothing to do with you, the light Encircles your eyes like Pools of water you seen through A spyrol of existence, shining you. I want to paint your picture but In words. I hope I can do you justice Like the pleasure you gave to me. Tone and tone on shadow like you Used to portray, this is not a canvas Just a clean white space filled with Strokes from a brush stroked blue. I have no memory of my own so You will have to do, dead I hope You don’t mind being the sitter.
BURN YOUR BONES I’m looking at the trees because That’s all there is to look at Existence non-existence, beauty Is beautiful although their bare. The sun shines through the naked Branch and lights up my day. It and I keep reaching higher like A bud does in blue/grey sky. I hear the blackbirds out there Cawing nurturing nature’s way. I can see the bottom/top today. Nature has its way of showing it all It throws a coin, nearest to the wall. It shows me I have won just like The blackbirds caw, there’s food on That their soil, nourishment for Another day to feast not to toil. Roots they make me stronger reach down ever higher, you can burn your bones on this funeral pyre.
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