Saturday, July 2, 2011

June or July

Grosgrain ribbon Beige, Bronze, Brown
wrapped on the bias
all around the pointed toes
of your clicking shoes
that snap and catch on my mid-morning peruse.  I wonder if you would take me to the garden, the bois beyond the Square,
plunge past the fountain’s shush, pin me to a shag-barked tree and fix me there. 
Your kisses would slur my name, smudge carmine crayon smoky sweet cardamom
 & marzipan.

I can’t change. I can’t change. I’m tumbling in the tangled
 in turbid swirls of venery tumultuous, cirrus wisps feather-tipped high

Restless trees shift green leaves
in your eyes
then curl

1 comment:

  1. This is beautiful movement, MJ. Abandoned to to what comes, to what is wanted, to the curl of what is next. Really fine, even though I do not 'understand' it with my left brain, I intuit the smear and smudge of it in its painterliness.