Opening Comments on Beauty and Grace

Beauty is a complicated homonym, two words, neither at this time can be annotated. Likewise, grace, which gives way to water all over the show. Both glow purple in the afteredges of sumptuous serious tennis games. (I did play tennis, check).



Some words for beauty:

pickpocket

slipshod

Windermer

colt

simper

tourniquet

river-river

warble


Grace:

play day in the ditches beside the lake Mom bangs the triangle for dinner we are tramps hanging the suits on black hooks

we put our wet heads slipshod mom said don't play in the ditches and we didn't it was '87

sticking gum on ballet bars, Beethoven, only I didn't spin couldn't knot my arms, wielding my legs like wood in water

Julia Unruly white hair, people trying to touch that child's hair even in the supermarket

Princess of Power

stickers on the kitchen table, the car, sparkly on the dash Mom might liken them to St. Christophers. Not to drive the golf cart out of bounds when I see pedestrians, a street sign waffling on the water like sunflowers

slapping a cow with the back my shoe, dream bees on the brown plum

dad accidentally killed the dog, blond holidays, placing the lake surface on my head

I see fishing with pink worms that don’t die after you pierce them, they have hats on and sunglasses

to lie in a red canoe, brown the bathwater

I watch dad clean a fish it isn't hard to sear things in the middle, put your fingers in there, silver heads sticking out of the dirt