amphibi.us

Some sort of ragtag boat
dripping blue blood lifted up
toward the painted Heaven
blocks the good shots of the tapestry
made of the almost ridiculously
famous and somehow now static
melting clocks, above a beautifully
out of date automobile (but
was it then?) disrupting the Japanese
who are not interested in his
Oriental prints but in the plastics,
and the jewelry large enough to break
a skull in a fight, as he did, with his
sometimes fascist friends, oh
those awkward middle years.
Sing the virtues of the dream
down the block and out of sight
of the huge eggs hanging infertile
in this heat, the tea shop serves
the first good gunpowder tea
we’ve had since the boat ride up
the Yangtze.  A place in its natural
wonder as whimsical as this
converted theater for the mad
civil war dreamer of Subarus.

© George Moore, 2010