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| Donald Finkel |
(1966)
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| Hands | ||||
| The poem makes truth a little more disturbing, like a good bra, lifts it and holds it out in both hands. (In some of the flashier stores there´s a model with the hands stitched on, in red or black.) Lately the world you wed, for want of such hands, sags in the bed beside you like a tired wife. For want of such hands, the face of the moon is bored, the tree does not stretch and yearn, nor the groin tighten. Devious or frank, in any case, the poem is calculated to arouse. Lean back and let its hands play freely on you: there comes a moment, lifted and aroused, when the two of you are equally beautiful. |
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