Thursday, 8 September 2011

Inspiring People

This week Hms saw two of her favorite people do what they do best, and boy they do it well.

Pinky Love - Exhibition Dalston Super Store London

B. H.Wolf Poetry reading at Poetry Unplugged Covent Garden

High time
draped in plaid—patterns,
a skirt,
a belt,
fitted tight
against the sweater:
a foreign place
such a fine time.

Legs crossed, bare skin folded
tightly around the thigh,
a grand milky-way
not yet discovered,
somewhat terrestrial,
such a starry galaxy.

Soft fist tightens, a point,
before the belt,
of no return:
to each finger
a line on a hand,
to each needle--
a valiant,
there grips a finger.

greens merging with blues,
youth, roses, life elsewhere
a mad carnival of color,
lost together
upon fabric made for trends,
no different than street creatures
who let patterns drag them
through the sewer grit.

He's sinking!
Are the dice thrown?
Or were they taken back to salty seas,
back to the grand milky-way tangled in plaid,
below the ground work iron,
where “the great shroud of the sea
rolled on as it rolled
5,000 years ago...?”

Only beauty appears to her now and
the dice matched at six drown in the shroud
crashing into the abysmal abyss,
fading ever so madly into the depths of her own wreckage.

She thinks of the whale
shimmering, sparkling,
plunging its coarse white body
through the needle's point,
letting him dip,
under and over the tide
until he sinks away beyond her control.

Belly sinks, a skirt—stained plaid,
carnival lost,
crossed legs revealed,
shadows on a clogged sink,
life is here, yet foreign
a needle hits a sheet-less mattress
and somewhere near the ghost of the whale
there lays a belt,
there also lies a past high time,
it was such a fine time.


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