I have a tidy mind:
sunflowers balanced on ballet,
basins baking crinkled architects - fingerprints
of chrome yellow.
I have a tidy mind:
corn fields rusted on the scratch of bees,
or eye of child with pointing questioned
trowels of sun yolk.
I have a tidy mind:
abandoned, I have to work
with three walls yellow, and the fourth me -
unravelling canvases
on the outside with fever.Me too. Your poetry offers a kind of exotic collage for me rather than distorted cubism, but it sometimes seems to cross over even these boundaries.
Another splatter of wonderful images, I really love your poetry.
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winston plowes
Tue 19th Jan 2010 23:55
Yellow fever... Brilliant as usual. Win x