Taunting a Painter

Time rushes from the clanking clock
across the wicker chest;
my heart thumps contrapuntally.

The beat goes on, babe. You can't catch it,
or etch it.  You can't frame and arrest it,
with your fine brushes, your decisive knife.

The pear juice is an icy film
seeping from the paper bowl
down the dusty lacquered warp.

Try to trace its glacial fall,
the rolling, particulate froth at its lip,
the squandered sweetness of its track.

Make it a still-life, I don't care.
Forever will it flow, both forth and back,
over what we've woven there.

~~~~~~~~~~

Douglas Logan

Comments

[ellwort]

Kinda like poking the bear?
Our perspective as audience merges with our perspective as canvas.
Want another sip of pear juice?