Unformed, anonymous,
urgently pinched in waves
of finned dispersion; seaweed pompoms
and painted lips washing away
under the slower pulse of blue stars.
Distant face streaming apart
in the slumping waves of a forgotten pond
traced in the veins of thin rivers,
Dry Ophelia, unsure where to fade
carrying bouquets neither real nor artificial,
face traced in veins of thin rivers
in the slowing pulse of quick breaths
even you don't understand,
dry as the brush you were painted with.
You, not knowing as your cheeks
strike the canvas in this
our once and forever
My dry Ophelia
John Thomas Allen is from New York. He has edited the anthology of Surrealist poetry entitled "Nouveau's Midnight Sun: Transcriptions from Golgonooza and Beyond" (Ravenna Press, 2014). His latest book entitled "Lumiere" was published by NightBallet Press in 2014. In 2019, he won James Tate Poetry Prize for this chapbook. The longer Donald Trump is president, the angrier he gets.
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