All Ben Knees

September 20, 2011 § Leave a comment

the time it takes her to
draw
it out. by that time
it sounds like
another
completely other
word. his name in a cartoon.
italian america
with no ‘o’ on the end
of either. and when

she collects the
tickets
from the door, green, the man
cannot be seen behind the curtain
not even
if wind parts them. we think

he is gone.

Mona Pisa

September 15, 2011 § Leave a comment

don’t paint

September 15, 2011 § Leave a comment

fade into obscurity with four
children
stone house on the mountain
diego
welcome him with fresh bakes
go out on weekends the six of us
eat ice-cream at midnight
and pop the kids into bed late
don’t paint anymore
unless you stock up on yellow
cypress
garden clearing
research languages
live near a beautiful city but do not see its
beauty
crack one day like china
spew some nuclear darkness into the mountains
be okay again
bake
don’t paint
unless you stock up on yellow

you know when you’ve been:

September 8, 2011 § Leave a comment

to heaven to home.
a Roman in a station corrupts and
Siena is romantic, but full of americans. i dry my
hands in the sky
and my dress on the line. Diego looks up
as the peaches plop! on
the flagstones. we’re very alive here.
the train north is music; the capital is
hot with four thousand tongues
all wagging at once. our neighbour
looks like
charm. i spill my caffe on you in
a white piazza; here men sell
leather, schoolbooks and linen. a violin
badly sprained.
flocks of butterflies flee
rain.

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