Thursday, July 28, 2011

069. Floops

Circles and swirls and loops and spirals. Folding over one another, piling on top of each other, kittens nesting, piglets scrabbling for the teat. Going around and around but not really going anywhere. Tasting the air each time you loop, different each time and what does it matter if the perpendicular distance is not great? Movement is all... Inspired today by Silvana's "Dante sitting", my picture is a rendering of a sculpture seen in Millenium Park, Chicago, and I have still to find the name of the artist...

petals ovals flakes leaves. you peel me like petals. sepals.when does a leaf become a flower? does it acquire the arrogance of the born-to-be-beautiful? my aloof fuschian softness keeps the combat khakis at arms length. i fleer past you, stunning in the moment but the moment is always too short. fold, roundness, circle. soft underside of pale breast. and up again for air and taste the difference of that extra, that repeated experience, does your forked tongue taste two things at once? me in the past and me in the present and my flower is gone in the future.

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