23 November 2010


Mixing florals, mixing patterns,

I want to wrap myself in prints

and create paisley damask distractions.

Textiles tailored for straightjackets.

The busy shapes fail to tessellate;

they cannot fool my senses.

I wrap myself in prints

as fingers wrap themselves around

the cross-stitch strings inside organs,

plucking fingerprint beats

and pulling pulling gentle persistence,

undoing what was sewn.

Beneath cotton hibiscus bruises

I see the imprint of you.


Ma said...

Finally a poem of your own and not by a mad person. Hurrah

mike said...

Like (I couldn't find the Like button).

I put a comment on here yesterday, but it mysteriously disappeared...

anna said...

Not by a mad person...hmmm.

And in regards to the comment, 'curiouser and curiouser' said Alice.