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,

ephemeral

beauty--

there grips a finger.

Patterns,

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.

Captain.

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.

B.H.Wolf