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Published: 2009-10-06 22:23:33 +0000 UTC; Views: 185; Favourites: 1; Downloads: 3
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Description
Peeling back layers of naiveté,Each one fading into the next,
Like the colors of the sun, in decay.
Taking the one before it out of context.
Somewhere in the calamity between
The petals, the pollen, the stamen,
There lies no image unclean.
Pure life at home, in Eden.
The paint is crimson; the paint, goldenrod,
Is dancing the best of the great ballets.
Do I gaze on a flower or on a bawd?
Or is this just a canvas set ablaze?








