Poems, Uncategorized
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Dining Room in the Country

There is no wall between the landscape

Parallel lines split clean passed

Pastel symmetry divided by stucco walls,

Vivid but barren

The colors do not blur,

but blend against the brush

Geometry stilted against memory

A lasting gaze

A woman leans against the pane,

Outside looking in.

More feral at heart than the cats

That’ve claimed her chairs.

A wild thing,

that tree plucked

clean by pulpy hands

Flesh happy to have picked flesh

Now resting on a clothed table

Until dusk inherits the red

Resting against shoulders

We can cover with our thumbs

How has it happened that a piece

can be held in your hands,

possessed, purchased, & owned

But never really known?

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