Tuesday, April 19, 2016

POEM: "Frames"


The painting’s rolled out
flat on the table. On the floor
there’s a wire it’ll hang on
one day at the back. Perhaps.
Anticipating what rises.
Rosewood from forest trees.
Glass from the sea sand.
Heavy paper that seals in
all the air it took to breathe.
No. Something isn’t right.

© 2012 Rob Schackne

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