olivia ramshackle amidst a blitz
of acacia spume, swears to remain
exterior to ‘i love you’, forgets her purse.
a blatant mine of perfumed gadgetry &
archaic post-it text though. we admire her
her windswept pose looking like lost lipstick
or early film stock, all gaudy reds & greens,
hair slightly over-long for this stage of
modernity. i was away from the set-piece
filling in a time-sheet vision aplomb
registering the dots / dashes / irate
minutes of labour. but yet. but still.
wild thistle & hairy panic circling
the edges of the frame, masking olivia
& her age; peals of bird issuing a tonal
cusp, a things-must-change like
the weather ultimatum, borderline
romance. her severe hemline gazing
at me through space, battling a
fractal geometry of twig &
brush, affording itself status
as image. we work on
mustering a sufficient
& valid ode.