Cataract At The Lip

Cataract At The Lip

Of the glass, vision sipped
from the gush of amygdala—open
your brim to the lush
of Monet. Pour from the frame:

Chardonnay in a quiver,
disperse and flow—livid
strobes of Van Gogh.
Then, harden and flay

Off clots to metallic
coruscations—figments of Klimt.
Now: stiffen to spirits
dispirited, and disparate—pause

In thoughtful paralysis: Hopper.
No stopper for an Imagist
cascading the palate: paint
an intoxicant; the body, a blotter.

Vacation In The Inner State

Vacation In The Inner State

There was a singe of summer
barbecue as something warmed
her, sipping. There was no curfew
on desire, in her wineglass,
or outdoors.

She scanned the span of backyard
grass, the unshaved blades:
her ocean, shattered
tiles: her shore.

Her body waves to bathing
suits never bought, only savoured
on a screen: now her mind.
No money meant a richness
grew, in spite, as did appetite

For one she writes. He likes
men. She craves
him, still. For in exchange, words
are close. Her husband’s

Touch is otiose, while her beloved
prose projects
a tenderness that sculpts
deserted sands
to ecstatic glass within her.

Skyscraping
*Patti McGee

Surely the sky is for swimming.
Kissing the curve, the perimeter:
a pool built for my skimming.

Palms swivel in the breeze,
fluid: an inverted aquarium freeing
soles swirling, upturned.

Blonde was conceived to unfold
strands of sunbeam, concentric
streaming from my acrobatics.

The whirlwind is watery;
somatic craft pauses
within photography: skating releasing

Wheels and blades—transfiguring
imitation to pure ideation:
culmination into liquid motion.