OCR Text |
Show THE POOR FISHERMAN Always at the end of the day I view the Gauguin mounted on cardboard upon my wall. He is not doing his work either. Something strange has taken hold of him kneeling by his boat. His cup paused before his mouth in a tableau, he stares out over the water beyond two trees crossed like good luck fingers. I watch' him as I sit naked, unaware of this body. The windowsill is a waterline I am trying to keep my head above, orange sky, impossible clouds. Once again I have lingered within the warm presence of the chair to gaze outside at nothing 40 |