Painting the Dropcloth

[annaswirls]

A place for the spatterings of possibilities that perhaps may evolve into poetry; what was left behind when the canvas left the easel or what precipitates during a brainstorm

Feel free to rough it out and then edit right here if you are moved to do so.

No masterpieces expected.
Turpentine available upon request.

 

[annaswirls]

then comes the place where it all breaks down


tacklebox tilted my bobbers and lures, sinkers and hooks
tangled in line we can't remember if we are catching
or caught. Slippery business these plastic dividers
secret lives.
you peek inside;I hide.
File barbs. Bend wire.
Sort by color, shape, feather, bait.
You suck the blood from my thumb
scratch off my name.

 

[annaswirls]

well thats just great
they've seen me now
breasts on sideways, black veil down
breaker breaker 1-9 he's calling for a toll booth
I haven't got a dime

has it really been 600 years? you
have not aged a day. taste for tight flesh still sharp as the
serpents tongue searching for a weakness.

she can find it in me, that is barely a challenge
"why is it always "I" with you?"
What other letter is there? I'm not clever enough for intentional invention.

She picks the jeweled dragon, I ride the frozen tigress, claws extended
shredding youth with every pass

 

[annaswirls]

I think on Eve and her children,
Katy and her ladybug magic, and the younger one
shaded in the low valley of normalcy.
I think of Eve, her heavy chairs and subtle switch.
"My how they've grown."
What else did you expect. Daughters
into women what does that make you?
Softer? Wicker rocker? Slow latch strap?

I make lunch. Cucumber. Chicken salad.
I have learned to say "pecan" with a kudzu tongue.
My boys run past, break glass.
"They've grown." What else did you expect?

 

[annaswirls]

still they come and come
these unbidden words

poems?
not quite

it scares me when they come
I should try to get back to sleep

 

[EducatedOwl]

His roving eyes speak volumes as they dart about her dress
His wishes are explicit in their guarded wordlessness