Who owns the framed face? Dispacing an elongated neck, one jade earing. Is she
a tribute to Modigliani or Matisse or Klee's Goldfish? She seems vaguely off-center.
Is she reflecting or consuming? The table cloth forges a bold pattern, rallying
knives and forks. Perhaps it is less complacent than the fish? The fish isn't
looking to satisfy or be satisfied, though perhaps he harbors a malignant question.
There is an emptiness he mocks, challenging notions of solitude. Perhaps there will
soon be a war among the utensils.
Is the apple the answer? It might provide a wide
array of fictions and challenges, demanding an active participation. It might
fall off the table. It might be less sinister in real life.
The floating flower
looses all perspective. Can our heroine compromise with the forces of renewal?
Someone is missing, trying to encompass a whirling emotional monstrosity, though
the scene remains personalized and accustomed to its fate.
Was I interrupting these secret, static rituals and little behavioral choices?