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| Spring Sessions IV 70 x 50 x 1,5 cm acrylic/spray paint on canvas |
DESERTION
for Oliver
Absconding
angel who giveth blood once a month,
adores blue
cheese on English muffin, leaves trail
of hairpins
and edible bookmarks in the bed sheets,
trace of Chanel.
Predictably opaque: hot coal
one second,
piece of ice the next. There’s no way back.
It’s hard
to believe that there’s another day.
Tomorrow,
yesterday. Doesn’t matter. Any day but today.
Funny that
you never visited the ruined temple
with its
view of the gulf. But there’s no way back.
Poking
around outside a wind starts up.
One of
those talking winds, always bitching.
Scirocco,
Meltemi, Santa Anna, the frigging
Mistral
itself. She’s a breeze with a famous name.
And she has
blown you off for ever. There’s no way back.
You feel
like a figure dissolving in a sand storm.
Light sticking
its fingers through the cracks
in your
mind, but don’t worry, it’s still there, your mind,
more or
less. There’s no way back, the wind says,
and it’s
not, I repeat, not another day, though someday it might be.
