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Stream Of Conciseness

February 18, 2012

as if by accident she appears at the door

and without a word starts disrobing, folding her clothes

unhurriedly and methodically in some corner

he observes like a journalist

tools at the ready in  the periphery


suddenly she collapses on the floor,

a shuddering, gasping pile-

limbs stretched unbeautifully:

the oily smear of a treadmark


his lines ogle and whisper on the page


she stands,

body twisted, eyes fierce

clawing and kicking back at fate


his lines depict an apotheosis

an orgasm of anger


she falls backwards  on the bed

arms reaching out for her ghost lover,

groin straining

she reaches down, plunges

tears drip from her face


his lines skip and dive on the page nervously

tracing the s’s of her vulva, the sinews of her clenched feet


then she is looking out the window

tracing the golden ring of  leaves at the  base of a tree in some past Autumn


once when she was young, before he left

they went to Coney Island where

she rode every single prancing horse at the carousel

aftershave and the sea mingled  with the smell of sunburnt bodies


a lover in the dark,

bodies moving. with the lights flicked on,

they did not scramble like roaches

but looked  up at her in drowsy satiety


she was sure of  the answer

but as her hand crept up

she doubted

and tumbled.


the artist fell with her






Some recent drawings~


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