Still Life Poem by Pauline Fayne
Still Life
So still, it seems
only her fingers move
charcoal-smudged
across the paper landscape
reducing mundane morning
to a sinister world
where the dark side
sidles sideways in
along the margins
or behind the dark cloud
in her own drawing-
even paper cuts.
Tuesday, January 18, 2011
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5/4/2024 8:23:03 PM # 1.0.0.1119
