Friday, June 17, 2016
When Moore found a table
and chair, it completed him.
Trio from then on.
Makes no difference what he did.
His own clever solitaire with a
wildly shuffled deck?
Or laying out a newspaper in
Or staring through his seven
inch tablet in meditative moments?
As if his eyes were nails down to
the Center of the Earth.
Did think of a woman, but another
chair seemed sacrilege.
The present grouping having an aesthetic
coherence as it stood.
You might feel he would die there, like that.
He had that thought too, and it comforted him.