Wednesday, August 27, 2014

Miss O'Keeffe and I

My tears were dressed in the tired movements
Of black and white film
Losing innocence to sound and color
To glossy images of ghostly white crumbled flesh
And ghastly red chalked lips
A furrowed questioning brow
And a twist of a collared wrist
Grabbing at the crowd 
Of sad confections and thoughtful feet
And black tie affairs put on with meaningless heirs
As I flung my heavy heart away
And I let you lick the hurt by day
To cool my heart and hide my tired head 
Upon rust red hills of bakers' clay
Nevermore to be flat and gray