Friday, October 21, 2011

i shall become a fish


these girls have mad style, and killer footwear 


i wanna snuggle with this big lug. 


“Van Gogh in Moscow”
Katherine E. Young

Summer bleeds through our fingers.
On our twig boat we ride downstream
dabbling hands in the water,
slippery green reeds brushing
our fingertips.  We catch fish
in the evening; moist and crackling,
they turn black for our fire.

In Sardinia, a Russian ballerina
carves patterns in her veins,
pirouettes across her room,
wakes to white coats. “I am oh!-so-tired!”
she cries before she flits away.

There are paintings that crawl from cracks
in the wall, faces dwelling
in the mind, eyes seeping into
one’s own eyes, glittering evilly… .

When I have draped my veins on Sardinia,
danced vibrant among shrieking canvasses
and brought my boat in from the reeds,
I shall become a fish,
bones like these.