Wednesday, August 11, 2010

Poem: Hockney at Bellevue . . . "the promise of love's eternal blank comfort"


Hockney at Bellevue

There’s all kinds of ways to
enter one of

Hockney’s pools, to
part the cerulean acrylic,

become California,
no longer dream young men

in radiant absence but
engage perfections of skin

and promise of
love eternal’s blank comfort,

including this way, in winter
3,000 miles away and

over a sludge of feta and
fries,

life's indistinct landscape
not thrilled with

its inability to be simply
necessary (without

a pallid cuisine of industrial
vistas, no inside, no

hospital, no chance to see
humanity restored by

experts reconstructing
pools of human flesh).


__________
Sarah Sarai, pub. in Parthenon West Review, 2010.

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