Am I stumbling in the picture frame?
I picture you in a gully-gusher as an Acrobatic riding a horse.
You get struck by
the lightning of a brilliant thought,
your electric-storm hair-do like Jimi Hendrix's afro
& your face of a content owl, its eye-spaces
like two halvened pears.
You are my sunrise, my sunset, my silhouette.
The rain falls & is then sewn into my umbrella,
no drips.
All of the world's museums are blank,
filled with speakers.
I am recognized as silence.
Look at me. What have you seen,
what do you see but angles of stone,
flurries of the "melodious hue of beauty"?
I am more nervous than a lamb alone in a field.
Unending tension.
Medusa is like "the manipulation of a mirror."
I am breathless & paralyzed by the sight of you.
Woe, distinct glows.
Kiss me as if I were your favorite painting;
hang me upon your walls.
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