A spinning orb in pastels yellow green blue
a brass finish, gilded and sweet.
Or stretched flat on a drying canvas,
no room for error no space for alteration.
Ladies curdling straightback pencil taps,
like imploding chemicals array.
Blouses taught with starchy white.
Pointing and fingering the cracking corners:
"Austria, Portugal, Greenland is never green."
A slow jazz and a strange show theme
no glitters or curtain spread.
A finesse of practicality massaging childbrains.
No theatrical smiles or gestures to be seen from space
Simple notes and rhythms and imaginations shattered
not to ride on the backs of massive turtles
cooing and purring like housecats.
A freckle on the finger of a giant.
All the great proportions of scientists
mad with unanswers.
Dresses of cotton wrapped tightly several times over--
arms never able to encircle each extreme.
Raping the most incapable of recovery.
Stealing the broth of the mind;
an everstewing, thickening rue.
Turning it black and thick like wet flour,
a gum of unconcious paper mache
sticking, and stuck.
Perception versus fact
Mind over matter.
What is much better?
What is more sane.
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