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Laying deep within a kaleidoscope of withdrawn exchanges,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.
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