Outside the world
is every shade
of lazy
white.
My blinds are always
drawn
but not
this Christo
night.
I want
to wake in my
white bed
inside
white
walls
And revel
as a seam
of red where
warm
blood calls.
Outside the world
is every shade
of lazy
white.
My blinds are always
drawn
but not
this Christo
night.
I want
to wake in my
white bed
inside
white
walls
And revel
as a seam
of red where
warm
blood calls.
Outside the world
is every shade
of lazy
white.
My blinds are always drawn
but not
this Christo
night.
I want
to wake in my
white bed
inside white
walls
And revel
as a seam
of red where
warm
blood calls.
Mesmerizing structure. Nifty conjoining of your painting and your poetry.
Poetry contains different levels of meaning, and here’s one that has differing levels of poems—or different levels revealing different poems. Not each of the three passes needsbe read in the same word-order, following the same pathways.
No engagement for the poet; no engagement for the reader. (Apologies to Uncle Robert for paraphrasing his edict.)
So glad you like the concrete form. This piece started out as two couplets but needed something more. So I made it slow snow, and the three run-throughs were a happy accident, at first. As I posted in the scrambled text that I had just converted into html, the poem appeared in duplicate. I decided I liked it, and added a third pass through to help this feel more incantatory, like a spell. And your suggestion here to read the poem in any chosen order of words is simply brilliant, and one I did not at first imagine, and now think, but of course.
Oh now you know I be loving me a spatially oriented poem with a bright red.
Bow
Mh hm mh hm. I do I do.