Looking at the Ceiling Poem by David Michael Jackson

Texture

A textured ceiling
with the shadows intact,
like the moment of
the mason,
the
craft,
the
art,
unnoticed in the
sale of
cotton canvas in
the department store,
in
the moment of
submission,
that moment.
The textures demand it,
they demand it.
They demand the painting,
the undefined expression of
what?
Only the moment
suspended in
what?
A suspension bridge to
truth,
to
you.
***

Comments