Art: Nude descending a staircase into the mӕmory of the event by Alex Duensing
Upon music I thought was not far away.
I only met sign of you
at sidewalked wood,
on side of road,
twilit flown bird—
flown just away.
The road, that road,
winding through heights
of suburban glory,
you once slept after passing cars
on a bed of grass
before sundry flower:
those, namely—
until you rose to wander
upon this particular notice
walking abreast with thought
toward a pleasant lake—
not far,
but just away,
close…
to my own porch,
actually.
Perhaps, so much of what we see,
of this little show,
is merely based on position,
you’d like to remind me,
wherever you really are.
It stays the same.
It is we strolling
among frongsong,
the bare memory of desire
and ongoing
will of the dead,
so strongheaded,
we’ll rush within
our own forgetting.
Still…
for a moment,
in that half-light
I feel…
specifically…
more than a bit beyond
lost in gifts of pondering,
your presence
has given me
hope
in bold edifices
of meaning
and significance,
but only for a moment…
yet…
Is it an extraordinary afterglow of vanity
that gives savor to life upon these little hills?
I wonder
movingly
as we watch hares
dart across lawns,
rich and poor,
with houselights twinkling,
through the darkening trees,
for our passing.
About the author/artist:
Alex Duensing. Graduate of William Paterson and Columbia? Yes. Ran for St. Petersburg, FL City Council? Yes. Won? No. Stopped Mayan Apocalypse on rooftop with performance art? Yup. Strange but nice fellow? Clearly. Able to create mechanical engines that run completely on the energy a person creates while appreciating a painting? On occasion.
