Maxwell Bodenheim Poems : Your Mind is a Little, Clandestine Pastel
Your mind is a little, clandestine pastel
Shaped into a posture of rigid grief.
Its colors huddle together
And make a stunted, aching lyric. . . .
Ah frail-flowered moment preceding reality--
Your eyelids open; the little pastel dies.
Shaped into a posture of rigid grief.
Its colors huddle together
And make a stunted, aching lyric. . . .
Ah frail-flowered moment preceding reality--
Your eyelids open; the little pastel dies.
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Saturday, May 14, 2011 - 13:47
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