THE BLACK SQUARE

By H. R. Reid

Malevich, Kazimir. ‘Black Square’. 1915, The State Tretyakov Gallery, Petrograd (Now St. Petersburg).

Let’s all sit in the dark, shall we?

Significance built of a feeling, once I pick one.

Built of blood through organs, yet

Do my eyes not deserve the feast?

Should my tongue touch only darkness,

The deepness of my desire,

The divine taste of flesh, of blank paint.

You are blandest reality.

A burn, mar, trickle tick-tock.

Your skin wrinkles:

All the conservationists in Europe could not save you.

If I could strike matches from my calloused fingertips,

Age you with breath, with touch,

With the indignation of flash photography.

I could pull at canvas bones, sinews of fabric flesh,

Your nerves blurring at their acrylic edges,

Out-damnéd-spot stainéd,

Ageless and pinned there with guilt, with

Artist pegs’ stigmata.

God’s judgement lays you bare,

With my hands across your shape,

And your rudimentaries tasteless on my tongue.

#darkpoetsclub