Pain(t) spread from the palette,
froze the dusk;stained glass
isrousing gold; eye lashes of
challenging red, prowling---
a rich, urban milieu where crowds
mingle, harangue & haggle till the
light's dull neon shutsoff.
Oranges have peeled off
atantalizing mini; the skirt has
lost the identity- consciousness
of a figure wanting to wear off--- whole-
some, showing off as colors
existingas the spectacle'sof twilight.
Guy-Debord sings from a hymn book-
The romantic spectacles weren't Marxian
or Freudian in productive prices, profits, and
and alluring to color as evening dressed and unfolded
in minis as nature's mimetic advertisement.
Cruel aren't the birds that float nirvana-
homeward bound; unhurried their poses
as Walt Whitman's beard unrushed
and unworried as business suitcases
rushing home to write a poem.
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