Sunday, December 04, 2011

What tables must carry

It is always about stiff old men
This poetry of weeping willow
Wiping up suspended breath
Of villainous crime
Carried through by rope or pillow
Leaving out the ladies’ drapes
Not hanging on arms
Nor sliding on side
Breaking high heels
On family heads
Passing along dining room sets
Where windows reflect
What tables must carry
When still life art is put aside
To offer up pride of decoration