Franišek Kupka

I cracked back my jaw to feign an old life
and it sounded like you

old man eucalyptus, myth – František Kupka in a fog
somewhere between Venice Beach and Notting Hill
just outside of Crazy Horse between dry pines
and consequential fire,

maybe
the skeltons of rainier cherries have tracked you
with temper and apology /
maybe
the way you carved allegory in permenant black ink
reminded you of temporary touches on younger skin

I still protect you, when the dusk is salty and palms
are humming the psalm of neighbouring retirement,

I still protect you, in the wrong monarchy,
as I still protect ghosts from the wrong side of town.

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