Charné, or was it chardonnay?
Amber
drops between smiles,
amber
drops dribble freshly glossed lips,
amber
drops.
Chanel
umbrellas, waists of poppies,
calves
& the impeccable geometry of thighs
perched
before a judge,
judge
mulling his way
through
some quasi-partnership with local prisons.
Chartreuse.
Flat
black ’36 Ford coupe,
caught
between Martin Escher’s staircase to nowhere
&
Michael Parke’s steps into the ether
chasing
the bubble of daily existence.
Flat
black ’36 Ford coupe
perches
like a giant crow,
crow
towering above his raven cousin,
perches
like an elegant crow
in a
mid-1930’s cockpit,
not
quite what we expected,
yet,
sentimentally refined.
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