top of page

THE ROMANTIC PERIOD BY IAN CAPPELLI

  • mclaspires
  • Feb 15, 2018
  • 1 min read

Was it for years so clear to them? Once

Laying to me fogged like frost flecked frigid ponds

Laying deep within a kaleidoscope of withdrawn exchanges,

Exchanged for so long


My parents can only French kiss in a museum

I’ve seen them hold hands in the Louvre and the Met

Framed and nailed

And hung like genitalia

Castrated and gelled

And jarred next to Napoleon Bonaparte’s


Their passion: paintings

Dried, set,

Finished

Placed somewhere amongst the Roman or Romantic ages


Displayed beside (the other) vestiges


And with that thought I felt, again, infantile,

Yet also older and at funerals

Like the time we killed the moon’s face

In elementary school.

Recent Posts

See All
Threesome

The altar sits empty but ready for ritual We drink his blood and confess our sins But there is no pastor here to listen Breaking bread...

 
 
 
Walter and His Fat Wife V

Walter walks with his fat wife down to the riverbank on very warm nights. They carry a light blanket and lie in the grass. This July...

 
 
 
Walter and His Fat Wife IV

Walter’s lips are in continuous motion his mouth is full of bright ideas and his wife’s kisses. He is working two jobs now saving money...

 
 
 

Comments


© 2023 by MCLA Spires. 
bottom of page