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.

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