Your Mind Is A Little, Clandestine Pastel Poem by Maxwell Bodenheim

Your Mind Is A Little, Clandestine Pastel



Your mind is a little, clandestine pastel
Shaped into a posture of rigid grief.
Its colors huddle together
And make a stunted, aching lyric. . . .
Ah frail-flowered moment preceding reality-
Your eyelids open; the little pastel dies.

Wednesday, November 19, 2014
Topic(s) of this poem: mind
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Maxwell Bodenheim

Maxwell Bodenheim

Mississippi / United States
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