Stuart Miller-Osborne

Une femme nue Sur une plage en hiver Elle a une sœur Qui vit en Amérique

a pleuré amèrement une souris était morte

What is this An Impossible Object What is this Ludwig Van Beethoven What is this A Giant Monday

whenever she walked towards the peridot beach the circus clown would accompany the trapeze sometimes he would swim with her in the sea or look after her clothes near the sloping path

we all wore the same coloured suits a mixture of dull pink and shadow grey our music was as boring as our image we should have been a country jazz band or a wash my feet string quartet but had chosen another direction shortly before we disbanded for the final time

When I returned to Paris Metal stairs Had blocked my view My windows Were no longer interesting

I have visited new countries Vaguely wandering And listening to the Discreet voices That travel east I have lost My pleasing rhymes

Childhood My Childhood Had flared Into knots of agony and despair Adrienne was always there So was Sylvie Isis And the Queen of Sheba

A Cotton Dress Splashed Crimson Deep Jade

Jenny Colon was the object Of my sane adoration My actress died in her thirtieth year Her spirit is now my constant companion I am now quite certain of another world Where lovers can meet and share their days Jenny Colon is much more mine in death Than she ever was during her very short…