"Kandinsky" (for David Ritchie) Swarmed in cool cloth, it mulls slow flesh. A village goes a proper trace, a line leads in, each hand's fast force focused on fixing. Outside the painting, a world glut on bombs and pain, Inside, the same bombs fan against an ochre mountain. A bull preens red horns against a black fence. It has become the pain. Astonishment is the end of surprise. Astonishment is the end of surprise. ------------------------------------------------------------------ To change your Lit-Ideas settings (subscribe/unsub, vacation on/off, digest on/off), visit www.andreas.com/faq-lit-ideas.html