Friday, August 10, 2012


A room full of saints, in the Spanish style,
Violent drama
From quiet to whisper loud.

They never meet your eyes.
Caught on canvas doing things.
Things they never did
All marked in heart's-blood
Sympathetic magic
From their heart to mine
A long line of carmine
Passing the eye, the mind, the word
Clawing at the under-soul
The heaving breathy bellows
With ten thousand flensing knives.

An image, a snapshot
In salvation history
Tarted up with royal Photoshop
Here a tear, there an attribute
Every artifact tilted
Every illumination falsified.

Ah, my love, let us be true to one another,
Said the forger to his brush.

No comments:

Post a Comment