03 July 2010

pop song > painting

improperly framed
the transparent glass pane
brushes against its own infertility
the director's proclivity for
carnassial misdirection

into the soft sand
beneath Pfeiffer Beach
with a waterworn wand
the director writes the word


black shot
fingers sever
black shot

whispers, twice from her
once from her consort, leading
her hands cross.
she is not guarded.
she hides nothing.
you must listen

the director is pleased
tells her, "There is nothing
that needs to change."

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