eight women promising color & movement
, sticking to the stars’ sick shade of green
will pant under the étude piece, to snub themselves/
“yesterday stuck every part of her”
, single woman or ninth figure crowding the private space
beneath her eyelids & color;
“as though they were rolled-back;”
“& other promises push snow, don’t know how the eye
will bear/the eight close in silty water,
pulling through & through looks of horror & regeneration, silent as fisheye,
“please, the piece can cut your eyes”/
& they watch until the little piece is cut into radio-severed clouds
, until the ninth turns them over,
“the piece can give you enough eyes,”
“the piece is feathery violet on river sand,”
“see, I’m in love with this girl & she’s marrying another guy”/ strengthened by the vision of
her construct, the eight hang their hands
