Prisoner of Disguise
The words flock together
and stretch on the frame
Their meaning runs over
still wet from the pain
The canvas is porous
the easel maligned
The curtains blow outward
faces calling in mime
The streets all a-chatter,
it was Paris in spring
And striving to look busy
the most important of things
Looking back at my window
above the tannery so high
A shadow stares back
—and I flee in disguise
(Villanova Pennsylvania: June, 2016)
Copyright © Kurt Philip Behm | Year Posted 2018
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