John Grey

THE ARTIST VIZ A VIZ THE MODEL

He took her apart.

Not with spite. Not with compassion.

Merely a geometry gone feral –

the brush, a blade, a fever dream.

Surface was tyranny. He revolted.

No face. No frame.

Just the hush of becoming.

Her cheekbone ghosted

through the wet red of her mouth.

Her eyes - twin comets –

cut their own orbit into the dark

that did not ask for them.

He refused resemblance.

Refused the flesh’s polite lie.

Later, when the pigments curled into sleep,

when silence chewed

the wood of the easel,

her gaze still burned. Still asked.

“Where am I?”

But he, prophet of fracture,

had already turned.

She was never summoned.

Only the storm she left behind.

TRAVAILS OF AN ABANDONED MISTRESS                                    

Late at night

she wonders

            about him

            who’s living in

            another city    

                        now

whichmayaswellbeanothercontinent  when she

            speaks its name

it seems so                  far                    away

she hopes he is

                                    doing well at his new job

& she is still concerned

                        about those PAINS in his joints

she’s even concerned

for his kids

                        BUT NOT HIS WIFE

(she can see the two of them at the table – Gloria is preparing

his favorite dish – his lips smack their way into a genial smile –

Gloria beams – DAMMIT! why must even her imaginary

casserole be so mouth w

                                      a       

                                        terin

                                                g

to think

this was

                        a guy who made

                        any excuse to slip away

                        who rejoiced in the

                                                freedom

of kissing someone who actuallykissedback

 her f i n g e r s  massaged those aching shoulders

her soft words brough  calm  to that throbbbbing head

& now

the one

who asked

for nothing in return

has been gifted with exactly that

                        plus too many extra pounds

                        a matronly appearance

                        strands of gray  perverting her

                                                            nut-brown hair

maybe he thinks everything about them was so implausible

            it never really happened

yet theywerejoined -    joinedevennow   

                        if only he could see

& she knows things his wife will never know

            about herself mostly

DUST

Dust –  takes up half the seats

in the air bus

vere dignum iustum

it is altogether fitting and just

sunshining through bay window

in tight trousers & patent leather shoes

stops    rises     goes on again & again

it sometimes lands on forgotten silver-haired people

incidents from the past                       old photographs

or listless Joe  no longer young

but with memories enough

            to fill a boot

Dust    this is your nasal stop 

this is your shimmering veil pose

here is your lychgate to the unsuspecting

& your canvas             brass furnishings

nuisance                      sweep away                

            skin debris                  

a flock of the small white invisible

yet tidbits of grand design

beati immaculati

John Grey is an Australian poet, US resident, recently published in Shift, River And South and Flights. Latest books, “Bittersweet”, “Subject Matters” and “Between Two Fires” are available through Amazon. Work upcoming in Rush, Spotlong Review and Trampoline.