Friday, June 18, 2010

Blind Man Zoo

Self Portrait with Seven Fingers ~ Marc Chagall

I press my hands between my knees, for fear my thoughts fly free; describing heartbeat’s rise and fall; paint my name upon the wall.
On knees I rest bisected chin, smile a smile, a cheapskate grin. My life could press between these pages – open, fold, cardboard stages.

I free my hands 'tween porcelain thighs; canvas stretched to expose details - a touch-up job on azure skies.
Ill adept and pistol-whipped, I rushed toward the prize, scratching itch and war-wound glitch, the walls imbed with nails.

I fly my hand across my face to break the tension surface, hoping yet to taste the wind, the flowers that unearth us.
I dip into the great divide between the day and the daylight; while up above the tree-line sky where needle threads the camel’s eye, wings the thought that no-one bought: I am cyclops sans an eye.


NIKKI said...

"open, fold, cardboard stages"



jbkrost said...

don't you just love him!!

Harlequin said...

Pisces-- this was beautiful read.... I was captivated by the internal rhyme and the undulating rhythms and twists ...
and it works, strangely, with the image. A lovely strangeness about this... so compelling.

Moineau En France said...

love the sounds and the structure of it all...

Pisces Iscariot said...

Apologies to all for the slow response

Nikki:Just like one of those fold out books from your childhood :)

jbkrost: I presume you mean Marc Chagal? Yes, the extra fingers stayed with me from when I first saw his paintings during my school art class.

Harlequin: Like you, I am not really sure what this is about - everything and nothing - after all, I'm making it up as I go along :D

Laura: See above.;D Will visit soon.

JeffScape said...

Holy cow... I love that last stanza/paragraph... and the last line is awesome.

Strangely, even without the alcohol, I feel drunk here. ;)