Tiptoeing through the thorns
In the uncertain blue hour
Bunsen flames scorch mosaic lawns
Ransom notes flutter from an ivory tower
Roses are prettier than molehills
Though harder to ascend or depict
Star rays pierce dilapidated sills
Showing shards of distended relicts
Strange to advertise an artist’s retreat
Bed no breakfast spun in sullen monochrome
A paralympic black eye dance for club feet
An added expense for those with no way home
A rattling storyboard that spells
A thousand rusty frames
Exposure wider than the glowering sky
A sphinx descends to ashen hell
Tarnished gold obscured by flames
And the lens is shut before the blinded eye
Proust’s Madeleine in Montaigne’s pagoda
Lets down her golden hair
Bonsoir tristesse the sunset’s over
There isn’t anybody there
Julian Isaacs
Picture Nick Victor
.