Re-Drawing a Portrait Once Painted on Plywood

A lone housefly myopically crawls

up pale-peeling kitchen walls, entropy
in quotidian microcosms that

screams of a stiletto- hardness
tattooed in both prismic eyes. It

belays the soundful softness
of rounded thighs and arms

of the woman at the table,
the smoke of her solitary

cigarette winding like
lust toward the fluorescence

overhead. There is sex
in this as in everything.

Even death. An unwinding
of flesh into the universe

that birthed it, entropy
again. Or perhaps simply

childhood timelines
tangled with tangential

tomorrows and the
exorcism-autopsy

of memory, a stillframe
of this solitary instant, yellow

and blue, aborted phosphorescent
remembering.

15 thoughts on “Re-Drawing a Portrait Once Painted on Plywood

  1. wow beautiful textures to this…the smoke of lust…yes sex is in all things…that intimacy underneath…great use of lannguage toward the end…autopsy of memory is a great turn of phrase….

  2. I feel like I have been this woman in another life..
    such strong use of language here and i really like these lines,
    “tomorrows and the
    exorcism-autopsy

    of memory, a stillframe
    of this solitary instant”

    much enjoyed..

    • Lynne, I think the “exorcism-autopsy/ of memory” is one of my favorite bits, too. 🙂 Interesting that you identify with this woman; I actually did have in mind a very real person –my mother– when I wrote it. I consider someone seeing something of themselves in some aspect of what I write high praise indeed. Thank you.

  3. Oh man.. I only had to read your first three lines and I got one of those shivers down my spine… the good kind… where a poet just did something great and as a deep lover of poetry it send me crazy… adore your work Jo xx

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