Saturday, 9 April 2016

Judicious Observations of the Corner

“Pierrot” by Pablo Picasso (1918)

Pointing directions with dirty fingers
Massage into those folded flaps of the dying skin palettes of hostility
Colours to enforce an identity
Green tears of black humour
White cloaks of funeral connotation
The flesh now a canvas of infinite prospects to dehydrate one’s self-esteem
Blowing off, rubbing on
The perception of the self is threatening
Heaviness forms its barrier
Frozen delights are falling off
The bearing faces of burden, an icon undergoes the knife

Flesh out the identity of the dead body
Extract a dose of the personality
Preserve the such into private bottles, those of the manufactured goods
There’s a classic soundtrack to suit the spheres of insolence
Salute the atmosphere
Emotions are those that burst on their own 
But the clown’s still not cracking
Skin’s a dark plum colour
That the blood is blue where the lungs had resisted their breath, of opinion
Their knives are blunt

Conduct interviews on the merely departing  
A breath of new air 
Breeds the drama for silence
In headlines of ostentatious fiction, the caption reads, “Dying Clown Refusing Death”
There’s a plush pillow
Awaiting the appointed 
Who's late for the homecoming
If silence is the abuse of company
Ignorance is truly
Wholly bliss
So that that silence must be release