On Advent Poem by Elizabeth Robinson
On Advent
Rough draft.
Infernal orientation of
the body to the Real
Body. Yes, this
way the length of
a stride is a color:
cobalt, not cobalt, cobalt, not
Draft.
To prepare.
Blood red, brown, blood red, brown
To draw from.
To draw out. A pace.
To be drawn to.
Ready the outline
on its spirit, dark
green
and light, the Real
Form of one body, god sleeping,
walking inside another.
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4/18/2024 11:25:34 PM # 1.0.0.1119
Its like a Jackson Pollock, it has abstract expression, its meaning alters with each reading, she draws her words from existence and with fluidity it changes itself. Any hack can make sense it takes a genius to create an order in chaos.