the rainy day

I went to see Louise Bourgeois the other day in the rain and she whispered..."words were all I had at hand apart from the five senses"...I said...

arching over anxious threats of a blind man playing in children’s rooms
muddled breasts feast in the days negation
haunting evocative leading white pale
skywards, hardness deviating a chorus
moment-
modern-
metonymy-
phallic pushing and trying
a giver towards insomnia
mistrust is inferred stepping sideways
to find tangible evidence, pleasure where guilt lies
a banquet of lack
psycho-wishes shadows on blouses hung to dry
orbs and eyes peer at
grasps insistent
on destruction in graphite
snap charcoal
ease toward fantasy
having observers axe aggression
drumming positions
deceased memories
exiling towards a mourning mouth
les dangereux individuals disconnect body and mine
room to water to market
she hands reality
pigments sin
shapeless water cupping mother
over a primitive fabric of shifting silver
a bed shroud with expectations
life to make curtains, limits gratitude
the smell of indigo
ink soils
soil
starting he discovers she prattles
subordinate visiting hours
feathers sometimes rupture a retold
everything’s skin
it’s a defence which stirs palpitations
demystifications, blessings, privileges
but there is no escape.
the solitude landscape where
geometry relaxes flesh exposes
vulnerability
nurture; play with proximity
she longed and released and
speaks in sculpture
mesh walls render the eye a constructed
ceiling put your weight against
the door and
look