a
poem by
Maurice Oliver
> bio
Blurred Or Fuzzy
Later just
before bed
in a green mostly blue
where yellow never goes
he unfolds the book
then skies down
one slope in it
tour guide or acrobat
moving amongst moving
things the milky human flesh
of clowns and stained armpits
a view through gritty windows
onto a backdrop held tight
against blinking lights
dressed warm in memory
unpricked by forgetting
the series of twists & turns
redden ripe along its tips
with wings fully spanned
the sky a fierce reminder
of circles & cycles j-curved
until words like lilies die
and all that's left
is to blow out a candle
which doesn't exist.
