Sunday, January 10, 2010

David Alfaro Siqueiros in America 


the same building, different days, like a photograph
compressed in the retna waiting to be born
a montage in a dream where all else disappears
but the building itself
always half-light, red structured brick
double-doors closed

when I was approached by madness at a young
age, I saw my breath before me as a great stone
wall to write upon
an agitation so obscure
perishable only for the throat
holding back the darker blood
to capture the dusk

Chris Mansel

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