A Spectacle and Nothing Strange

Rain in Paris, great whorls of it spinning, falling
as knotted string, strung pearls, bird’s nests,
gray hair, wire barbed or not, cat gut, old paint brushes,
tumbleweeds.  Clean your hairbrush, bad curtains
in strips, cloud shreds, albumen, cauldrons 
of bouillon, cassette ribbons, phlegm and tears
like liquid crystals. We came to unwind, stifle the contraction
of a muscle, ease psychic anxiety, thicken
the moment, elevate life from sorrows revealed —  
drizzle honey, find tea to paint with, 
wake with, dazzle our eyes, spy, spin words,
sun on a surfing bird, its bright wing, soon 
pink lakes that pool in the clouds,
see or imagine them.

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