Wednesday, October 22, 2008

Forgetting the Words

the six-inch cardboard city on the left
is overrun with trembling strings of flame,

the rising cotton balls of smoke form horses
and silverware, the wolves, their pink wax

lips curled into slick waves of desire and rage,
are so close to us, to the woman holding a baby

to her chest: her wig of real human hair sprayed stiff
as if whipped by wind across her eyes, barefoot,

though the plaster snow, with its painted crescents
of shadow, is up to her knees

1 comment:

As Bjorn said...

Gosh, this is so good. I once tried to do a series of pieces about art intallations and could not get there, but this exploits the visual metaphors and contains the emotional truth, at least for me.