Standing as she did alone
In profile at the beach,
Tastefully arrayed
Limbs at rest
At all the proper
Angles and
Only enhanced by
Cheap sunglasses
And a red t-shirt
Damp in places where
It touched
Her swim-suit breasts.
Blown flat
Against her
Abs at
The front
From the wind it
Rippled like a flag
Behind her
Frayed, sunbleached.
Hair like golden
Streaks on mahogany
Threads of slighty
Disobedient silken
Hair like Alice
Down the rabbit
Hole as vixen
Sprite.
Pouted lips and
Chin
In perfect 22.575 degree
Upward tilt and
Unapproachable
For all that.
Brice reasoned
That she could
Not be
Anyone but
Famous.
He said of her
“She stunned though
Dressed down utterly
Even for Venice Beach
And pity's sake.”
The photograph was
Titled “Incognito”
As though
Everyone
Would know.
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Could easily have ignored the thought, but there it is... placed here as though everyone should know it's a poem...
"Nach! and it shall opened to you." (Pun offered for those few seminarians who have heard, not read, the Lenny Bruce routine about Ruby shooting Oswald - like how much more exclusively 'in' can you get, right?)
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You blew her cover. *
**
I like it. Strong imagery. This would also work as prose poem / paragraph form.
Thanks Matt, Rachina... Sam, it was in paragraph form first, but it was too ... poesical?
And I eliminated 2 other paragraphs for being too Californical.
Cuts to the quick.
I love how this explores the need, and desire, for voyeuristic spaces.*
The writer is the ultimate voyeur.
Thanks, Gary, Amanda.
*****/*****
"Threads of slighty
Disobedient silken
Hair"
Cool picture!
I've seen her but never spoken.
Thanks Chris, Bill, Steve.
I can see it.*
Thanks, Gary... so can I.
Killer ending.
Thanks, Paul. I'm about done here. It's all about the novel now.