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cubism: like a rock slate cold his face
pointing both ways square tip to front
and ejaculation of feelings never spent
a minute there nor here to her a throat
nagging cough proceeds to tell her the month
draws near and how are we to close ourselves
off to make ourselves like picasso made us
and how are things really this way when all
is spent is wasted and evaporates and shelves
our thoughts and plagues us on common sense
never been on it or in it and forefathers take
turns at shaking their wrinkled fingers like
grandmothers and time well spent on a thought
a mirage a painting lifeless homing the shelf
of a dusty mind framed yourself you framed yourself
and who cares for the snow when it! lights your heart
a white frosted chip and dip into nothingness now you
see my face for the first time and i am not child-like
i am like you for once all angles and points pointing
away from you I do not wave in the distance
and all is lost in the surreal: cubism.
copyright 2006
Kamuran
Kelly |
