Lines on the “Cuckoo’s Nest”, at The Kitchen’s Gallery
Friday, February 13th, 2009
Half eaten or just a slice or two
This banana cream toast-infused
Pancake buttered red and blue.
Dancing legs on white walls vanish
While other legs just freeze and wonder
Sitting in decrepit blunder
Shadowing far away from you.
Mirror image and dashed-line shadows
Glow a bit from their grey-soaked hue
While stolid steely angle flirting
Is diffracted from one to two…
Fallen chances and beaten egg yolks
Crack into the black space now
In a tri-colored invasion
Of green and white and blue.
Salt and pepper spoons
That have been used and used
Stain a linen agéd cloth.
Choked and tied in herbal wonder
Something’s fused me to this chair
Designed by Alighieri’s sloth.
Leaning back and tied forever
Bound into this place and time.
I remain here now and forever
Convalescing in the land of rhyme.
Plastered to a skillet pan
On a vertical kitchen stove
Someplace south of my tomorrow
Did my mind begin to rove.
Pinned and tacked like island continents escaping into nothingness,
A yoke-al center part of Whiteville seems to hold this nucleus
Tight to themselves but not each other, away from one another still
Like some ward of black construction waiting by the window sill.
Looking off, off into nowhere,
Nowhere’s in particular it seems
I travel here and there and go where
My mind rips to and fro my seems.
Waiting for some sort of order
A sentence to the frying pan
My voice is monotone recorder
I stand alone facing the man.
Licking plates clean
Neck and ankles straining still
Bound and gagged
A Bugsy silhouette
Hides something ragged
To the eyes of those who will
See something ‘neath this black silk screen.
If you only look down and deeper
If you look past all my color
You will see yourself
Across the table in the mirror.
Seek and you shall find the reeper.
Half a chair and half a window
Cooling blades cut through my walls
Seismographic mirror forests
Birds that chirp but never fall.
And here stands a step by step instruction manual of sorts
Turning you, a human deduction, to a furniture cohort.
But all around I am rescinded by my fellow man who’ve tried,
Mossy mirror glassy floor-rid this is how they all just died.
Stepping through the creaky caverns
Of someplace deep inside my mind,
Hearing stolid wingéd messengers
Warning me just what I’ll find.
Glass infused
And light diffracted
Dancing women
By night distracted
Tearing ticker tape in two
Cardboard crayon
Convalescing
Won’t ever bring me close to you.
Won’t ever make a whole so messing
When the scheme of things
Leaves me resting and caressing
Those that at least I can see.
For the warning singing fowls
Left me all alone tonight,
And with pentagonal statues
I cannot recall to fight
My way through…
They’ve taken me from you.
I sit and am bound.
In the corner do I sit, waiting hearing you
Endearing me to stay a little longer
They won’t let me play with you
Why can’t they just take my word, my dear?
Why must you always run away to here?
Exhibition: January – March 2009
Sara Greenberger Rafferty, BANANAS
Vlatka Horvat, Or Some Other Time