After "After Lucien Freud" by Amy Hollowell, posted 21 July 2008
Unboxed.
Torn utopia.
Ancient in the unabbreviated shadows
of us.
Naked. Shorn. Ochre.
Dirt in place, or placemats where we are
thick cushioned folds of graced flesh.
What draws him to
predestined trajectory?
Full frontal reconfigurations,
as seen through primacy, mercantile.
Always consider the indispensability of custom,
body’s ancient remainders
barren with motion, language
as it is crafted.
Thus.
To unmask the implicit sky?
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