This was written at the Picasso Musée and was published two years ago.
Pablo, when my knife
Peels fruit skin,
There’s subliminal Spain
And Paris before,
This century played people.
Women,
Gathered knocking,
For a kiss.
We have hands, round heads
Busy producing coloured
Shapes of
deliberated choice.
Before lunch,
Down Rue des Grands Augustins,
I waited where you created,
What hangs on Madrid.
Tell me, did erotic ombre’s
Posses you not going dry?
Stuffed strong,
Forward desire,
Cools by controlling
Relief in percentages.
No comments:
Post a Comment