in a chaos of mouth and eyes

it was like a fire
when beauty trembled;
that's what i learned
when everything smoked
and burned
and nothing resembled
what i once knew;
even the blackbird flew.
so, i settled into my new studio;
there was no way for me to know
how to wear my dominating dress.
i saw many people who woke up to success
as well as to a cup of coffee,
but not to me.
i couldn't be entirely sure
who would enter and who would leave!
i held nothing up my sleeve.
there was no known cure
for indecision,
or for lack of precision,
or for impersonating a bull;
my dinner plate was completely full.
periodically someone would call
from their wallpapered wall
but the phone would go immediately dead:
nothing new was heard or said.
i'd draw my kitchen knife
and the hanging still life
had no way of knowing in its' zeal
what it felt like to feel
out of reach sitting on the beach
or in the grocery aisle with a contented shopper's smile:
there are enough ideas to last a lifetime.
at least that's what i learned in school.
and i'm no fool;
but i could return to my room
to indulge myself in imagery,
acting goofy and totally free
in a chaos of mouth and eyes,
his and hers smiles and lies;
and maybe i'd try to appoint
just to make a point
a bit of color, a half tint,
where all that would remain is a passing hint.