Writing Poetry à la Seurat

Pointilism 2 (2)

photo by Charley

 

A painter,
from the school of pointillism, graffitied
the coffee shop window – the world is art.

Steam off people who simmer
here, and others who perk, soak
my thoughts, dampen
the metaphors I carry, stain
the allusions, leaving
brown rings
that echo
fiercely.

Impressions of oaks hang
over my every stroke
of the pen – the bloodletting
is slow, my essence sugared
by distractions.

What would I write?
What could I write?
In isolation?

The artist’s work
is barren when not reflected
upon; bare when by life unaffected.