Saturday, May 30, 2015

Portraits: May 30, 2015

That still-life, they proceed, pointing to a jar of red-hot pokers, is to us what a beefsteak is to an invalid – an orgy of blood and nourishment, so starved are we on our diet of thin black print,  We nestle into its colour, feed and fill ourselves with yellow and read and gold until we drop off nourished and content.  Our sense of colour seems miraculously sharpened.  We carry those roses and red-hot pokers about us for days, working then over again in words. 

 "Portraits” (MOE 177)

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