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Picasso’s Eyes, Poem Example
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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.
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