Gary Kuhlmann
STILL LIFE WITH OYSTERS AND LEMON
Red is for the end, the proximal, the master switch:
The wasp's drunken buzz, that red, its diction on the dropped plum,
Flood light, the red of despair;
The red of animals, their red eyes;
The sacred red of hunger;
The red of what is now, the red of moist meat,
That red through the organs,
The double red, telling us who loves and who dies;
The red of port, the sweet ruby blood of the condemned,
One drop of the dying's tears,
Blind red, radical red, the red of the dirt beneath our feet;
Red as the heat of a summer noon;
Red as the melon swell of summer, something already
Nibbling at its core, its skin dabbled
Think of this red and you may think crimson and madder rose,
Incarnadine squeezed into the palms of our hands,
Red as rust, the palms of our hands, the random road painted in.
Location: Iowa City, Iowa Email: gkuhlman@zeus.ia.net Website: http://garykuhlmann.tripod.com/undressed.html Publications: The Cream City Review, The Peidmont Review, Midwest Poetry Reveiw, and Whole Notes; and online in Gravity: a Journal of Online Writing, Music and Art, The Melic Review, The Horsethief's Journal, Stagger, Dust On Our Palms, Stirring Stirring V3:E6 & V3:E7, etc.
