From the cruel eyes of Picasso’s ocean
I see the sea dancing in luscious blue,
heretic angels shadow my motions
to a corner square of mussells and mood.
In a busy square under evening eyes
we gazed at straw boaters and coffee-shops,
down tunnels like cloned lanes where midnight cries
to the ocean treading on fishing rocks.
Through a Bazaar of canvas and achromatic meats
beacons of beer dwellers and beachcombers
scatter the sloth like pace of gospal streets,
with stalls of green absinth and peach jumpers.
Down a moving labyrinth of street maps
to the waking verve of this wicked moon,
a lair of copper stairs with rare old hats
where a absentee’s dreams are exhumed.
With the friends of beggary i sat down
on tables with golden taps with fountains,
I drank the green fairy and heard the town
whisper enchantments through bewitched mountains.
I followed the mist of the green fairy
to a large window of landscape postcards,
my eyes slightly blurred, confused and weary
sobriety brushed past me like moving cars.
MJ DUGGAN.
