Friday, July 29, 2016
Friday, July 8, 2016
Keep Breathing
Feeling numbed by all the pain and anger and killing going on. I was cleaning the house this morning while listening to Ingrid Michaelson, and this beautiful and simple song touched me.
Jupe Fouettée
She first built two legs.
Then she hoisted a parcel
which, in her hesitation, drowned
décolletage in viburnum with
crackle
inlets in her deepening hinge.
There she turned sugar
under a fetching hat.
She turned radiant and tender
with the gathered rainbow shell
cobbles. And with such bees
as that the honey brought.
She relays orchards
under a passage of days.
There are irresistible forces
swirling around, inflected niche
among heaving mallets as to bullet
the corded crumble cakes that
in shop windows florate.
Her pretty head were
the sun stain on the street, even
of a same time. She was put upon
a dispense urge and herald such pure
impulse. Were that she would
mantle there among tufts.
She hides the otter brush
of sweeten surge and rumple
a tender youth under crinoline.
There
are those that lay awake. Within
her
suspicion spectators, narrow road.
Of her gathering debacle.
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