Monday, September 10, 2012

#27


Ashes

she did the tasks every day
the cleaning of ash from the hearth
the sweeping of leaves in the parlor
the clearing of vines from the walls
the sorting of shells that the sea had swept in
the freeing of moths from the bedroom

slowly the house began to return to its former state
a pale gray villa carved with roses
pink marble floors
pale blue ceilings starred with crystals
murals of cherubs and clouds
bed fit for a prince
wardrobe of shoes made of glass

all of this, it does not save her
eventually everything
will still become ash










5 comments:

  1. absolutely marvelous. i love the way this was conceptualized.

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  2. this comment refers to the first photo

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  3. Dirt

    Beneath, dirt
    and in the air, in the water,
    dirt.
    We're mud, wet moving ash,
    temporary bone.
    Time will crawl circles around us
    with our closed eyes
    so let's build into the air
    clatter up the stairs
    in our fleshed skeletons
    fashion words from ancient trees
    and rasp through lips while we can
    before the leaves crisp, and crumble.

    The sun will still beat us
    tear out every color until only bleach remains
    leach supple skin, brittle
    yet that seed, poke a hole
    tend tenderly, moisten, wait,
    wait, wait until green snaps sun
    into waiting veins
    as though flowing sap, or blood
    means anything in itself.

    It doesn't
    matter, only
    love comes
    from dirt

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  4. Hey! Check out these awesome sci-fi paintings from the Soviet Union :

    http://www.darkroastedblend.com/2007/11/retro-future-to-stars.html

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  5. Beautiful art nouveau for a beautiful poet!

    http://www.darkroastedblend.com/2011/10/treasures-of-art-nouveau-part-1.html

    Love,

    An old, forgotten friend, who delights in your delight ...

    ReplyDelete