![](https://blogger.googleusercontent.com/img/b/R29vZ2xl/AVvXsEjImdpXM7w0HDkm-oPxwUgXW6WMTDbXRofC9WdPOveOKKbCDWMpKg_i8XocBOWY4t3q3HJZ81o0ELEG652QvTngOTwMFi7BT3re6F5gQGbxGvuz4Fvb-K_3reyTxclBW5nQrl4fgS8kM3A/s400/The_Green_Kimono.jpg)
Painting by Ulisse Caputo
AL FRESCO CAFÉ POEMS #29
We think, or imagine,
Or dream,
Or do whatever we do,
Whatever
It is that takes place
In consciousness
To conclude.
A conclusion ends,
An ending although
Uncertain about
Its middle, more uncertain
About its beginning,
Substitutes as in a sex clinic
For a wife a surrogate,
This nubile adolescent
Takes the place
Of induction, deduction,
And intuition,
There is then a reliable relation
To signification.
Something in a green,
Thin, translucent kimono,
Something purely a verbal construction,
Something of
An acquaintance is met,
Something very intimate
That remains a stranger,
And is recognized by something other
Than its appearance.
Metal metamorphosizes
Into metaphysics and accompanies,
Hand in hand,
As a metrical system.
Duane Locke
Posted over on The Hold
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