Tonight's Poet Corner: Abstract Art

Abstract Art
by Belinda Roddie

You stand before the locked gate, your tapestry
flowing from your shoulders, swathed
in pastels and pretentious shades. You have
a clock for a face, yet you cannot tell time
to save your life.

Many months ago, your hands spun out
of control, and you were lost in ticks and
tocks and Roman numerals lined up in a row.
The circumference of your character is not
so well-rounded after all, and so, you are denied
access to the surrealist emporium, the estate closed
off to you, Dalí standing at the door and giving

you the finger. But that doesn't matter, since
after all, you were created to represent Whitman,
and his corporeal desires, like electricity, course
through both his veins and yours, causing the fabric
enclosing your silhouette to glitter with fire.
You have a soul, even though it is burning slowly
now, and you open your mouth to sing, but
all you do is chime the hour. The wrong hour.