Refutation of conspiracy cult of domesticity
she a blue [rarity] butterfly from the hills of Jack London
not extinct nor facing it
breaks into her poetic memoir I close my eyes so that I can see it
people think I am sleeping I close my eyes so that I can see it
never takes a bad photograph always a glam shot
photogenic woman looks like she just got
through frolicking in a dewy meadow
wind and flowers tousled curls
or just out of being laid up
from a cottage bedded with a pipe smoky man with a beard and lungs
I close my eyes so that I can see it
she is in an enclosed space a forest movement
porcelain paisley decorum hand rakes and shovels
iron fist with a velvet glove
No comments:
Post a Comment