From the height I feel the colors of the sky,
Mixed tonalities engaging a purity
Whenever it’s directed,
Burn in the center, stellar as aloft,
While the points reduced to pinpricks
Of location wink the periodicities
Like a detached eye that will not look.
***
Presently life has no juice -- for it is juice that brings
Contortions to the body, inspiring the mind
To bubble over in contact with real things
That are a thousand ravens to whom we attach
Like colored pieces of string and take off
In the encircling collage as far as sight.
***
Mixing bottles could I ever make her mind?
Producing with stains on the white rub,
Over it ingrained eye-shadow and a smudge
Of lipstick? These are femininity’s
Accoutrements: take from them the
Flesh and lace -- my sister is not wrapped up
In blue tiles I desire and I love her
Without pink glasses or champagne
In a way that’s continually empty.
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