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Yellow

I have a tidy mind:

sunflowers balanced on ballet,
basins baking crinkled architects - fingerprints
of chrome yellow.

I have a tidy mind:

corn fields rusted on the scratch of bees,
or eye of child with pointing questioned
trowels of sun yolk.

I have a tidy mind:

abandoned, I have to work
with three walls yellow, and the fourth me -
unravelling canvases

on the outside with fever.

◄ Paralysis

Sterile 459 ►

Comments

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winston plowes

Tue 19th Jan 2010 23:55

Yellow fever... Brilliant as usual. Win x

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Cynthia Buell Thomas

Mon 18th Jan 2010 11:59

Me too. Your poetry offers a kind of exotic collage for me rather than distorted cubism, but it sometimes seems to cross over even these boundaries.

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Ann Foxglove

Mon 18th Jan 2010 07:18

Another splatter of wonderful images, I really love your poetry.

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