So here I’ve gone and reframed your painting, the one of the street with its tilted telephone poles, the street that led me into sleep so often now bordered by an eggplant purple, very trendy and advised by the decorator to pick up the purples and greens of other pieces in my room…
The illusion comes and goes and I don’t deny
I almost see them as ‘real’—all of them, the bear
inside the man inside the bear.
Call it a squint of sound,
tone on the edge of not existing at all
feel the earth whinny and stomp