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
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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