[The Moon Woman Cuts the Circle, Jackson Pollock, 1943]
Larry Discusses the Possibilities with Bill
And yet it can’t fail.
It always always (failing only slightly) matters.
But the real matter is this brick wood you’re after.
Chasing her through boles blue and shallow as bones.
you could roll along the edges, cracking stumps, lateral
ankles ironing the slope and still you wouldn’t be any further.
Her blare would land far out of reach when all you wanted was cavalier.
Sable creole comes close but still yet only except without however less
it seems when after tomorrow you’ll get her.
Stretched like a wrung washcloth, furry, terry, without abstraction
you rang the concrete dream and still not yet
I say swing her hard.
Take back the lamping smack and giver her a rape in it’s place.
Then pitch to the end and don’t come back.
Sun down the road, a stain long at the bottom,
able to complain and no dream bent.