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Your Mind is a Little, Clandestine Pastel
by: Maxwell Bodenheim (1892-1954)
Your
mind
is a little, clandestine pastel
Shaped into a posture of rigid
grief
.
Its colors huddle together
And make a stunted, aching lyric. . . .
Ah frail-flowered moment preceding
reality
--
Your eyelids open; the little pastel dies.
More
poems by Maxwell Bodenheim