Monday, April 16, 2012

T Ceremony

We are a crowd in the clouded spaces
Eyes turned in every direction
Reporting from the general collection,
As it were, a painting hung in the east gallery
Up for forensic analysis
People mill and eddy in and out of frame
Red string delineates the lines of sight,
The path traced, the discharge, the flight
From each eye in the scene – and yet,
As the twine laces the gallery
No two lines intersect or meet

Let me sit in this room
And paint on its walls
Sleep in the temple
And copy, copy, copy
Then clean the floor, very

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