Picasso’s Eyes, Poem Example

What crime were they designed to dream?

Coils of darkness

like the shadow twisted under a black cowboy brim,

slipping through alleys so black the pupils

shined like coins

struck against poverty and time.

Looking for the sublime

his black orbs conjured images

and siphoned colors from moonlit jugs,

plunging deep into the brain for radiance—

dancing with pencil, paste, or pen

or tearing collages out of paper napkins,

the eyes winked as he

made bull-horns from bicycle bars.

But they’re remembered only for their darkness.

Not for the rainy streets they begged for solace,

not for the tears they cried in anger

when Stukas bombed Spain and Hitler’s moon

rose over the Eiffel Tower.

I lean into them further by the hour

searching through dark pools that consume:

orbs swaggering brothel roses

slick pigments black like streets.