&

Earthen colors daub him/her...lain upon their backs,

arms running down the plinth--curling their pointer

fingers.

Pointer fingers curled as if scalded by boiling water,

poised to pluck out an eye.

They lay on opposing ends, the gnarled ends of a

broken branch...foresworn to polarity they press

each other's left/right foot upon genitalia.

It's as if they're on the dead of forest ground, the

more they think into silence a meandering blood

chains them.

They're not naked because they've forgotten clothes

to two as one...they're just laying there to recall

something--the bed's become a plinth, art implores

make of.

They just lay there...him...her--as if violently dropped

from the eggshell-white of forgetfulness. 

Cigarettes rise...freeze for a bit, then rest at their

sides--smoke cut up with final tension.

They could say something to get out of this but don't.

Konstantinos Mark

Reviews

[...]

. amazing ! ...
. just brilliant ! ...