Photographing Theater

By | 1 April 2016

Underpass drowned
in moonlight
the tunnel
allows the wood
and ghost of
a young girl
her expression
so vanished
carries us

Cosmos in
the joining
of three tiles
an angel
touches
her breasts
sharp stylus
left alone
two ballroom
Ladies
crosshairs
at each
of their hearts

Older Zuni
woman
hair tied
back in a bun
shoulders tight
and high
and never to turn
the hyper blonde
child is twisted
caught
looking back

Family
pictures dead
queens
white flares at
the top
in points on
black
a stark winter
tree
smiling skeletons
light drawn in
at their temples

The spider
was
a loosely
constructed
coral choker
the legs went
on forever
cut in two
hairs one
up and
one down

Lisbon first
night and
early morning
“Is it ok
for you to
play alone
barely
hidden from
the street? It’s
ok we
pull the furniture
outside here
to sit.”

Smear
of dried
flowers school
pictures the
stems on
the roses and
spattered
paper left at
the desk
a mind haunted
by its screen

Two brothers
guard a sleeping
child smaller
his spirit swiped
down mother bent
to kiss him
the second frame
all the same
rushed in
wallpaper
and posters tacked
under wet paint

Crowded underworld
some are in
pure unaggravated
sleep
men fully dressed
head thrown back
seated
hands folded

You could
see her
ripped from
his side
at the cold
bus station
a broad
single slash
in the screen
gone forever

A polish
woman scarf
tied at the
chin steel
eyes carrying
alchemical
pipe pointed
heavier
at one end
her kneeling
sister with basket
beside her
sticks slipping from
the pile legs
fogged at the
knee and torn

A reclining
boy model
an old
Victorian
smears
to move
the lawn down
into the sky

Roses playing
telephone the
bodice wants up
and in along
the bottom
more of a designer
than poet or
painter moviemaker
the strain
behind the image
starts over

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