Wind

WIND

A wind of curls that wore a black pants suit
raced by to flap the flag and chase
the spinning pigeons off the rooftops.
In the bedrooms, the beds put eyeglasses
on their sheets who gazed
through the wallpaper
over the heads of paper roosters
And the stems and curves of red apples
to take notes on the shape of the wind’s legs.
The photographs atop the piano took out
sketch books and created
one-stroke Japanese paintings.
Each stroke duplicated the wrinkles
in the wind’s knees.
The wind blew by and the mirrors
changed their images
from the wind’s legs to moonlit trap doors.

Duane Locke

Posted over on Art Villa