The Mask of the Sun
Venus and Jupiter, occluded, sanguine notes through corridors fell. Wild anguish of accordion, clarinet, cloud banks of frost and dusk. Intention was to see the mummies, not the clavicle of coronas, Robert H. Barlow I guess hunting for alligators, goofballs snake charmer. In its stead, creaked raven’s beak, essence of coals mummified in Sol’s face, humbling of Caesar’s petroglyphs, I have seen the yelling of bronze spokes in flooded Telemark. Intent was, ceremonial mask whistling, bitumen lich crotch, the weasel head really stunk they said. Cat fang trapped in ton of bombs. A traveler gone elegant, Nosferatu bells pounded effortlessly, pasty lips still.
JF December 27, 2013
Untitled Painting, tempera on paper, 1986