fireproof monkey

elastic bound thoughts

contracted as  would a boiled egg

overdone,

 

helios hepped on jazz

found the stroke of sidewalk

blocks of bars and strip joints,

 

mind breathing everything

eyes registering the glass windows

of long to come

tomorrows,

when her kiss come

buick grille jaws of hell,

 

elastic could not tighten

anymore flared with worms

and a solitary fly,

noise flushed red of wanton art,

 

could i be a titan

writhing on that couch

with string hearted blonde

ivory lonely care

without tending priests,

poor dumb altar

with genius of my soul

her and my footsteps

made us kings and queens

of the carnival

and slumberers of the

dreary city doorways

 

 

orchards of rockland maine 1892

fruit of pomona

yielding to reach and touch ,

never to be split between friends and lovers

that homer once wrote of them,

slight tug separation from tree

a tree that would outlive the fingers

among the branches,

each gathered in wicker basket

green and red flesh perfumed

one of softer flesh skin slipped off

pulled open juice spilled nested in pulp

not seed but foetal form,

an emerging conterpart who would grow

in truth,

licking away textured pale pulp revealing all

form grew and writhed,

this was nothing that pliny had written of or the

romans seen yet she knew,

as a woman in her warm spelt bosom,

the coming thunder was starting with overlaid clouds

to raise it’s crescendo,

female foetus of of rockland maine

with mind akin would grow so well,

her fingers had known degas face,

eyes seen the waves of suppression ,

in this basket another voice grew

oil impressionism

captured scene milhaud tones

creation and completion

the veritable truth,

that fruit of pomona spoke so well

no more a planet of empty milk and bread

in the spirit of the gods

many would red lip sacrifice

banner to trumpet call

it was settled now

Federal Period Style

big old clock,

bore the brunt of time

sat with pendulum sway

in studio corner,

once walnut

chipped, paint fleck, sheen

sometimes linseed rag thrown

at it in temper,

in sight the artist aware

more so now,

stagnation passed,

creations shadow appeared

she was new

very awkward,

found her on the street

in a heap,

short skirt needle holes

behind knees,

worn t-shirt and drunk,

but her face held him

unconventional yet striking,

willing appeared at studio,

clothed or naked

they shared,

she embraced the chill

screens and props,

he absorbed her body,

character, soul, shape and form,

stood still load the palette,

canvas warmed under her gaze

her scent of alcohol diminished

drinking less talking more,

her heart was full

and he unloaded it,

stripping away with a wash of color

her pain and all that she once wanted

forgotten,

skimmed over he saw her now

not as one fallen far

but as a muse,

a rare beauty,

whose looks and words

made realization

that this was not the end

as he fell in love