For Lynda Benglis

Oozing magnanimous, your molten

talent slithers across the walls.

 

Leaden meteors melt, folding perpetual,

leading  back to primordial tumult.

 

These are  the  liquid sculptures you dream

and understand deeply,

 

but you say your hands muddle intention.

You say your pewter splash is too grandiose.

 

I need you to remember the morning

you placed flattened musket balls

 

deftly along my spine. You flitted gentle

as you positioned each exploded flower

 

onto a vertebra with fingers

steeped heavy in grace.

Advertisements

Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out / Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out / Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out / Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out / Change )

Connecting to %s