KMA Sullivan
boating party
who paints the sulfur
muck that will suck me
to the hip
dragonfly
in the yellow
tranquil encounter
leaves circling
beneath tongue mountain
there are marshes
meticulous and wild
no pink clouds at sunset
instead there is a mill
a footbridge
nearly invisible
this is not my niagara
but even ponds crest
dressed in pink tuille
pink down to the feathers
of my fan
not merely in fabric
I froth for you
french color theory
men and women stop
at the enameled orchid brooch
tremblers in the case
and out
who cannot resist
vitreous mouth
slick
petals streaked with red
the diamond heart
denying space
refusing shadow
monet offers little depth
but colors swirl
not as objects in relation
water lilies and willows
as one
a landscape moving inside itself
I wait for your tongue
to leave me
slick and trembling
ambivalence
bottles and frogs
a moustache floating
I am in flux
a hinge
matisse’s lemons
his lutes and platters
props all freely lifted
I wrap them in my hair
I peel back skin
call myself carmelina
add touches of graphite
to my winding paths
miro’s birds are indifferent
increasingly attenuated
my mouth becomes the wall
becomes the book
becomes my face and thumbs emerging
who needs arms
the hole is the thing