Freezeframe (Winter)
That’s winter hovering above the steps.
At its back, the ocean. Blue ground below
red sun above held by its opposite white.
Hands peel eggs, drink from ceramic cups, smoke
cigarettes, tilt, lift, flutter in the film
playing at its entrance. She reads a med
ieval guidebook on how to grow a soul
simply or grow a simple soul. Not easy.
First the film plays over and over at
its own pace and then again and a
gain slower until frozen. She doesn’t know
the man who belonged to those hands whose hands
the film sent rapidly from hot to cold
and back again. Winter: cloud-slow poised
between upper and lower vaults.
Winter
hangs then speeds up, makes fast bright
her body and books, tinting the room white-
blue. Its pieces she quick freezes. See. See.
There’s prophecy
’s seeping line rhyming with the past it
got conceived beneath. Children shriek outside
her window, ocean churns never freezing.
She watches and reads the forlorn and
manic mystics whose hands were held by
a higher winter as split instruments.
Steps to grow a soul simple painted
white
red
purple-black
There’s an order on the other side
too brightly lit to talk about, recall, gone.
An anemic red settles gel-like at winter’s
base bringing into bas-relief summer’s
white heat. It rains as she eats, watches movie,
looks at images of Lazarus raised
from the dead on screen. The soul gets fed pre
views through its own dents. Nabokov’s magenta
and mulberry insides, and the strange, not
so good sea swell with winter enter.
The beach town empties. Its salt-fat hinges
thin. Wings on gulls make wind after wind
against the hair of locals, faces red-blue with cold.
Winter flew then froze, pale and old. Got made of
what can’t be spoilt. So made. Dissolved its own
frame.
Pool: closed. Its cover shimmers with
SUNRISE MARKET sign from above and above that, sky.
Sky:
white as a screen, floor-hard,
sharp as a beam images pass over, though.
First flat and smooth then wrinkled,
forehead-like. The color just beyond violet,
before red is hard to get, to see, Goethe says,
but it does appear. Sudden simple as old
ecstasy newly issued.
Freezeframe (Winter)
That’s winter hovering above the steps.
At its back, the ocean. Blue ground below
red sun above held by its opposite white.
Hands peel eggs, drink from ceramic cups, smoke
cigarettes, tilt, lift, flutter in the film
playing at its entrance. She reads a med
ieval guidebook on how to grow a soul
simply or grow a simple soul. Not easy.
First the film plays over and over at
its own pace and then again and a
gain slower until frozen. She doesn’t know
the man who belonged to those hands whose hands
the film sent rapidly from hot to cold
and back again. Winter: cloud-slow poised
between upper and lower vaults.
Winter
hangs then speeds up, makes fast bright
her body and books, tinting the room white-
blue. Its pieces she quick freezes. See. See.
There’s prophecy
’s seeping line rhyming with the past it
got conceived beneath. Children shriek outside
her window, ocean churns never freezing.
She watches and reads the forlorn and
manic mystics whose hands were held by
a higher winter as split instruments.
Steps to grow a soul simple painted
white
red
purple-black
There’s an order on the other side
too brightly lit to talk about, recall, gone.
An anemic red settles gel-like at winter’s
base bringing into bas-relief summer’s
white heat. It rains as she eats, watches movie,
looks at images of Lazarus raised
from the dead on screen. The soul gets fed pre
views through its own dents. Nabokov’s magenta
and mulberry insides, and the strange, not
so good sea swell with winter enter.
The beach town empties. Its salt-fat hinges
thin. Wings on gulls make wind after wind
against the hair of locals, faces red-blue with cold.
Winter flew then froze, pale and old. Got made of
what can’t be spoilt. So made. Dissolved its own
frame.
Pool: closed. Its cover shimmers with
SUNRISE MARKET sign from above and above that, sky.
Sky:
white as a screen, floor-hard,
sharp as a beam images pass over, though.
First flat and smooth then wrinkled,
forehead-like. The color just beyond violet,
before red is hard to get, to see, Goethe says,
but it does appear. Sudden simple as old
ecstasy newly issued.