Post by jeannerené on Jun 4, 2007 20:34:14 GMT -8
Conversations with Self-portrait
My brush stroke remains paralyzed
and the portrait scoffs,
an unhurried sigh escaping over its pale lips,
What do you know do you know beyond a dot an iota
with one woman eyes that watch without alteration modulation.
How can you presume consume dialogue with merit to any to all
in monotone tongue and starving palette bleached,
so absurd the notion promotion of unshakeable authority
with and of a single signature fading before my ink dries . . .
In tantrum I bellow,
spattering inadequacies defiant spittle across the canvas,
a scream birthing primordial returned,
I want to know I want to know want to know
the mouth the movement memory of woman
of molecule and mass whose groans moans
rise from stalk and stem
brood blood scattered by winds and wails.
I want
to comprehend the degrees of saturation
the consumption of its darkest dark
the assimilation of its lightest light eyes of she.
Needing
to follow her dance of bare breasts bruises and audacity
round the fires kept burning.
Pining to hold my hands under the belly of her dreams,
feel her curves be my curves.
I paint I devour her essence her undertone
yesterday today tomorrow
I will I will
Kiss the lips of her men,
fall into their arms guileless faultless surrender.
Diminished
backbone, undulating supple compromise conversation.
Portrait, I answer I will not be silent.
I will know all of her.
And with me,
she will fold our arms round my mother.
Beside me,
together, she will surround our daughters,
hunt down our sons with an eye fast on the moonbeam
and a cup held to capture the rain.
Portrait
I can give my brush this command,
Adorn my head with her hats of color.
Give blush to my complexion in gradations of gratitude
of all hues all shades all distinctions
Hush now …
Let me Create
My brush stroke remains paralyzed
and the portrait scoffs,
an unhurried sigh escaping over its pale lips,
What do you know do you know beyond a dot an iota
with one woman eyes that watch without alteration modulation.
How can you presume consume dialogue with merit to any to all
in monotone tongue and starving palette bleached,
so absurd the notion promotion of unshakeable authority
with and of a single signature fading before my ink dries . . .
In tantrum I bellow,
spattering inadequacies defiant spittle across the canvas,
a scream birthing primordial returned,
I want to know I want to know want to know
the mouth the movement memory of woman
of molecule and mass whose groans moans
rise from stalk and stem
brood blood scattered by winds and wails.
I want
to comprehend the degrees of saturation
the consumption of its darkest dark
the assimilation of its lightest light eyes of she.
Needing
to follow her dance of bare breasts bruises and audacity
round the fires kept burning.
Pining to hold my hands under the belly of her dreams,
feel her curves be my curves.
I paint I devour her essence her undertone
yesterday today tomorrow
I will I will
Kiss the lips of her men,
fall into their arms guileless faultless surrender.
Diminished
backbone, undulating supple compromise conversation.
Portrait, I answer I will not be silent.
I will know all of her.
And with me,
she will fold our arms round my mother.
Beside me,
together, she will surround our daughters,
hunt down our sons with an eye fast on the moonbeam
and a cup held to capture the rain.
Portrait
I can give my brush this command,
Adorn my head with her hats of color.
Give blush to my complexion in gradations of gratitude
of all hues all shades all distinctions
Hush now …
Let me Create
