Monday, January 21, 2013

Burnt orange & compensatory

She was standing naked at the window
next to a small Pembroke table
upon which sat my keys & my wallet & a candle
            because it was midday & the sun blasted intense
light down from a sky that was impossibly
high & blue
                        & all I could see was her silhouette
as if cut from a book on the Black Arts
if you need me to say it
            sharing a seaweed cigarette there is
sand in the bed & beach tar on the soles of our feet
                        music drifting in from the other room
Patti Smith or Mingus
                                    I couldn’t say for sure
there were damp shadows in my ear
& the Coleridge I read that morning I found it to be
                    like the punctuation marks I chose to ignore
in my copy of the Tao Te Ching
            which I forgot to mention was casually placed
on the table between my wallet & the candle “This is a
still life” she said & I thought yes, this is still
            or at the very least a 60/40 split