Sounds like a landscape palette, perhaps he has mixed his turpentine with
burnt umber, sienna, ochre and a bit of titanium.
****************
There's lots I like about this Carl but the first line trips me up.
Somehow,
turpentine's never reminded me of coffee, either white or black, not even
when it's been used to clean burnt umber, so I get the feeling that you've
used the image for the music of the words rather than the truth of image +
music of sounds. Perhaps that's not true, but it's how it reads to me. I
like what you're writing about and your crisp language.
bw
christina
> Trade Colors
>
> Dirty turpentine of coffee
> Slowly stains the beige enamel
> Cup without a drain, awash
> In slurried color rinse. Magenta
>
> Rings the sky that shortly pales
> To clustered films of milk: grayed-out
> Lands, throttling oxbows stilled,
> Slip-off slopes, escarpments. Far-off
>
> Tribes long colonized provide this
> Sweat, this oily slick, a stray hair
> Cuts a bridle path, or coastline,
> Or bristle torn from tracing jaundiced
>
> Buy/sell zigzags in olive and carmine.
Deborah Elizabeth Russell, Artist/Poet
Post Poems | Inside | Cityslide
Shadow Poetry | Parallels Words For The Wind
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