Posts Tagged ‘Lisa’

banging around in a town made of money.
Consequently, tomorrow I will set myself to
drift down, away from Discovery Green, noting
every cross street, until I reach the Museum of
Fine Arts. There they keep every perfect thing: a
Gutenberg with all the hidden gospels. A
henna etched woman, her face a prayer. The
Ishtar Gate that belongs, truthfully, to Iraq.
Jade syllables in a silk sack, to tumble out a
koan lost to imperial time. Spelled out
like this, it’s easy to think all art is like the
marbles from the Parthenon Lord Elgin claimed.
Nomads in the city, we stroll past the
organic grocery, the fine restaurant, flowering
plums in bloom: the work to be done’s a
quatrain, haphazard, unrhymed, rough and
ragged: still, I’ll go, no matter the critique,
since there I believe I’ll see the exhibit of
the earliest paintings of the Cubists, secured and
underwritten by the financiers of the trustees of the
very most exclusive of the oil men, and
when I see them, I promise you, I will
examine them so carefully,
you can’t imagine with what jealousy, with what
zoophilic logic I will acquire them for my own eye.

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when I woke up on fire my first thought
was for matches, for I was no trifler,
I was a fire-artist in earnest:

my comrades, they brushed the sparks off
like so much glitter, like so much dust,
and I opened my hands, gathered

every glint and flick, though they would
scatter, splinter from the marriage I
was wont to make of them: ash by glow

aside kindle next to flame: already
on fire I held its moving glister, and
readied the breath of my breast to blow–

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