The painter is asleep.
Light on dry palette, calling. Rasp fern rhythm and blues among mineral pigments grit.
Dust awaits water, craving for an image
Sun rings simmering in a fresh oil bath.
Antelope’s face softly tattooed on lion’s skin. Their mouths, lips to lips, among the folds of coarse fur.
The breeze jiggles golden glints in a furrow of light.
A gorgeous voice drinks to the stone murmur, hardly touching the cold, the wrinkles — just a sip before singing.
Young armored knight in Rembrandt light,
or sacred fetish from Pacific islands,
enshrined in fluid amber, my heart gently breathes,
plucking a life string.
Energy outburst, glowing and roaring.
Different Yin Yang: fearless balance of intensity.
Haunting depths of liquid desire burn at the touch of ice;
your weary shadow nestled in the white worn sheets looks past the emerald wall.
A smooth jade swell entangled in an absinthe dream nurses the abyss.
Liquid crystals: luminous beauty in combed ice shivers.
Hazy, fractal, greatness has lost touch with the stone ablaze inside, magma turned plasma.
Sophisticated dolls in green perfume suck on acid drops. Their tongues roll faraway languages, smooth like bonbons swirling along hula-hoop rhythms.
Deep down the orchard silence lie pebbles of ancient childhoods with wooden soles and a sizzling laugh.
“Play with me, lucent stones and you, lizard stream.”
The sea leans over an elephant ear, sharing memories that betray age; oblivious, she pretends it’s only a toy, all stuffed and furry, or maybe a sponge tickling a child’s fingers!
In Monet’s house, the sofa had a startling touch of embroidered burlap, uneven tapestry woven in rainbow threads that bruised my fingertips, like petals rubbing against the wind.
Nature’s wild fashion. God, standing at the runway curtain, steals the show and luster.
A two-piece puzzle: frosted plexiglass, cubist cut, exactly fitted to the thin transparent figure with an edge of green. Treacherous sleeping beauty.
Attractive substance, melts in mouth like cream
when a bronze twilight forges the blades and scum by the pond, then fades into poisonous nightshades.
Soldier fallen in the marsh, exchanging his blood for low-lying solace.
Jasper seal on a life, engraved with just a whisper.
Pixels rain rapping against jello pulp, accompanied with solo reed.
Danger came at harvest time,
stomping through Fall’s burnt leather and golden rust.
Baskets of grape, hastily thrown into a bubbling fountain:
wine tucked beneath glass diamonds;
Factory workers smoking;
An old man on a misty lake, fishing at dawn.
Fog over town; dust after the bomb.
What incantation could pierce the unknown before us?
The sea drumming slow. Echo chanting the warlocks that lure fishermen.
Heavy rods stir a dark emerald broth in the Wharf’s attic.
Life had deserted the fortress well.
Thunder blasting over the pit of melted stone fused pewter and verdigris from distant times; wild alchemy.
Fresh water springs above the cooling flow, brisk opalescent pearls rolling on velvet.
Drifting along raucous melodies,
gypsy rain beads tune a weeping river to tambourines and violins.
Soaked history, stretched out to dry on tomorrow walls,
flaps like skate wings.
I met the painter at the entrance of the cave —handsome black figure, charming gaze; he had ochre on his hands, in the midst of work.
Told me that the paintings would not fade in twenty thousand years under seas and rivers!
He was earnest, we laughed; I fell in love.
Crystal crisp glass, washed this morning for the lush banquet of one thousand goblets.
Mosquitoes gliding and screaming over stretched film: soundtrack for dusk aluminum lake.
Diaphanous fingers run through grass wigs. A tear cuts through the swamp smeared makeup, limpid, while a record imperceptibly spins.
Montmartre past Midnight in a rain puddle.
The Chat Noir, door ajar on dreams,
lace fringe and purple brushing over shiny steps,
crazy grass sprouts between paving stones
—and the cat’s eyes in mine.
Fuzzy monster, a puppet really, smiles over a crib, humming lullabies full of ducklings and lavender ribbons above tender eyelids.
A stroll through the forest; my feet get wet in the grass of a secluded path.
A clearing— The teen morning light bathing nude, rolling and jumping through silken waves, crushes its smooth iridescent bed.
I pass by, unnoticed.
Moist twigs and bits of hay softly pin the hair of a million babbling fairies on a spa day.
Chantilly lace mantilla drizzled over satin, floats as she strolls toward the sky
and he dreams of her shoulders quietly pulsing.
Love in Venice, with a Pollock touch.
The shadow collector pressed a bird flight shimmer between weights, but it scorched the granite beyond repair.
Shadowless sparrow mocked him maddeningly.
Doomed, he wanders.
The trail was closed, for a naked lake was tanning and caressing against a palm of earth.