ekphrasis 4 lyfe

you can find the painting this is based on here: http://www.artcyclopedia.com/masterscans/sargent-nonchaloir-repose-mid.jpg

On John Singer Sargent’s Nonchaloir (Repose)

Dissolving like spooned sugar
in the hot waves of her dress,
her lips droop towards a recompense
between rich mantle and curlicued desk.
Neck blacked with a kerchief,
locked fingers, pudge-rimmed jaw,
twin arms straitened
by a golden shawl:

Of her feet, under satin
light-brindled as a May sea, we say nothing.
And the eyes drip shadow, and the nose
breathes it. Nonchaloir
thin as the staff of a pennant,
sagged under a cambric boat,
even the shadowed couch
shows more of a glimmer.
Blue-pattern fruits sag down to her knees.

All that is heavy needs a bearer,
all is swollen, gloss.

Open out your pale fingers:
Evening is drumming its palms
against the portico,
fisting your scrolled skirts with its purple hands.

exhausted. maybe hitting the end of these poems. sad.

I fall in to sleep like I’m hungry for it,
Hungry at least to exit my body
Which is too plain, Slavic, heavy,
Held too much to the earth,
And I like my body am comical
And heavy, made of a set of bones
Cast out as if prophetically
Over the raw earth of my lumped soul.
I sit under the stripped magnolias.
Spring is going to do this to all of us someday.