This poem is for Kelly. She had her artwork up in one of the galleries during last night’s art walk, and asked me to create a poem that might serve as a title for one of her pieces.
these handmade Rorschach stains?
dressed in violet grays
wearing week-old newspaper musk.
We used to tingle. Flutter up.
Now our ghost limbs find solace
in muted freeway hymns–
its pollution hesitant
yet growing farther, still.
july 20th 2012