Two Metal Stars on the Elbows.
Fable / Andre Sousa
 
Would I be Mary Shelley
I would not have written a novel
I would have waited
at home

but my brain is blowing
like the young guy in the bush

I look in the back mirror
of my mind
but can't see Art

I have a metal bar
in my head
with two handles
that want to go
nowhere

can't understand

BMX
chivalry

why asses are not asses
and will shave her legs
while his penis is like a baseball ball
in a corduroy summer theater

on this dry clean shore of life
I will sleep like a dog at a door

Red Green and Blue
with a
pouding chômeur
make a sticky history
Angola
Brasil

and now a shoplifter
trying the best cigars

traditional families

As an art show
3 snake's  props above a tattoos shop

to be
engraved in one's flesh :

THE OBJECTS AND THE SIGNS

and a table design
ribbon
pudding
bank and cents
the display of a dis/location

shop lifting

a painted hourglass
on my mother's back
time to dissolve

a lusty painted watchman
daydreams over his observation tower

There is a labyrinth that we shall call thought process
these are shifting fables
hundred of limbless reptiles undulating
their way through
as if
 time was a loose skin


But we are at the Kaiser's grocery shop
naked and sedentary

thought translation
as a nomadic experience
as an only shelter
a beer bottle
that you shall call
architecture

If one could
draw a Molotov cocktail on paper

They would not have to write and the right to question in red and white
and write
Kaisers on the bags

those bags with two handles
as wings
cruising above
Tempelhof
a jail
emptied by the inside

Policemen are guarding the sunset
while the paintings
are hanging in the darkness
sleeping tight

I don't see the bird beak on the napkin
it is enormous
I see the cloud in your head
the idea of it
an abstract poem
with broken lines and repetitions

smells of oils and turpentine

and the mirror with the three
snakes
but I can't find the snakes

brings me back to the Eden
of trash and pudding

a money box
the sloth wide open
expecting some dusty coins

rolling on a brown wave
with disco light
History
like some
Canadian stripper's ass swinging
wearing a native outfit
of beads and stuffed with dollar bills


thought translation
transnational identities
found objects
abrasive lust
and creamy skin tone powder


I will give you a rock for a gift

and for Art an

invasive

P
I
C
T
O
G
R
A
M

because we will have to think
of places
and paintings

and of art as a candle holder in this long night that we shall call
time

you offer me to become
animal

in a society
of eyes
will only the blinds
white stick their way through?

Drunken on this sea of concrete and paved road
will one force upon us to
call the closing and opening of the flowers :
work related activities.


Cynthia Girard, 2009