When Ophelia met a Monet


Come and meet me, darling
I want to be your lie.
I see your waters dancing
With every pencil line.
Every speck of paint, a peck:
A kiss of dew and time.
Those shores so soft, so cool,
So calm, so green, upon the eye.

Where every blossom could be picked
If I could reach the stream.
Where I could swim inside your eyes,
A green and painted dream.
I’d swing upon the branches.
Your waters I would drink,
With lotuses and crocuses,
And heady hyacinths.

I reached til green have touched my toes
And lapped my dress of white.
The slime had slid up on my knees
And up across my thighs.
The waters pulled and tugged my dress
I felt it grip around my neck.
I tasted green turn cold and black.
From which I came, I can’t go back.

Was I a fool to see the warmth
The dazzling dance of light?
But, Hamlet, dear, you pushed me not.
I walked into goodnight.

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Pond Scum


And in the pink of you
I saw myself in green.
And from the white of warm
I tore myself in green.

And in the mirror’s depth,
my tiny tiny self.
Wouldn’t it feel great to look upon
The rows, the rows,
the Rose?
But in the mirror’s depth
I saw only myself in green.

And on the pond of still
I saw myself in green.
When will I ever learn?
I slicked myself in green.

And on the water’s skin
my sickly slimy self.
Wouldn’t it feel great to skate upon
the skin, the skin,
the scene?
But in the water’s depths
I’ve drowned myself in green.