When Genre Painting Ruthlessly Ruled the Earth
Mmm. Sometimes a lute– your red scarf
matches your eyes– is very like an armadillo.
A danger on the stairs, a sybil of love.
A spray can turning a room to pine.
All songs, all passions all delights: Gertrude Eberle
changed the channel, Forrest Tucker,
Farley Granger. Who knows where the road may lead us?
Hardy seed-bearing conifers replaced the swamp trees. Nights were clear: meat-eaters in red, plant eaters in green– the moon… a circular yellow.
Leonardo returned to Florence. Kate went over to Lisa & Bill’s.
Deep down in nearly frozen earth, life slept in a blanket of dead leaves and deep snow.
The trumpet of prophecy! not at all like an armadillo.
Stairs became stars, chastened a surly channel,
Shook the spray paint into an, an interlude of lute and pine. And cool clear nights, conducive to dreamy dutch tulips.
Kate left some egg-salad & mashed potatoes in the fridge for me, before she went back to live among the Amish.
Ola! and some cupcakes too….