quick takes

clouds match explosions
hidden emotions
like slow gas leaks
become squeaks
then bleve
then fire

everything going south
the pillar is posted
the liar is hoisted
watch the money
drip from his
foul mouth


climax cinematic scenes
bathed in polychrome fusion
its all too beautiful and taboo
the last boy who said that became faust
and the scenery designer
too

On The Very Eve Of Supper (In 3 Parts)

the scent of myrrh and lilacs
musing musically with movement
the past pries through the wilderness
wielding weirdness with the humming timbers.

static empty fields vibrate on white
broken telegraph signals repeating over open lines
broadcast via train in the gardens of England
drum lines defeating paint peels
from the Holifernos canvas

dreams of Bocklin
Romantic era literature aloud
the gas cloud rising over tea kettles in winter
whistles over Donatello's shroud
antelopes stitched in lace and mesh
gray before the last hesitation
post-war brown cotton down dress
for all the eyes on viewing day.