The Plum

The Plum
Feb. 20, 2012

Klimt's The Three Ages of a Woman

They are the wrinkles that shape your surface
The darkness that over-ripened your skin
The unceasing process that cycles eternity
Of life and death; beginning and ending
That enjoins you to the flow that we all belong to
Engulfs you into the abyss that all commonalities know
Into the circle we live to break
The fear we disbelieve as inevitable

It is the sweet alcoholic taste
The dry decay of your being
Your defiant acquiescence to time
Of aging and dying; unyielding yet changing
That endows you an immortal beauty, a perpetual depth
That few can only know
The unrelenting grace we dream to achieve
The joy we need bear as inescapable

For Only By The Night

For Only By The Night
Oct. 7, 2010

Wyeth's Ides of March

The screams of hollowing winds tear through thy ears
As the sounds of thousands rumbling horses momentarily coheres
T’is when one hides under the mantle of thickly covered sheets
With only a snout jutting as all courage fleets
The wretched winds clawed the roofs
And the rain fogged the panes, as if darkness is not already aloof
The table’s lantern flickers as if to give
Blackest pupils peer at the moving shadows, demons fictive.
For it is only by the night do these wicked things appear
Sudden and unforeseen; if only those white furs can hide thy fears.