she stands in pulp form

when art looks at art
what do you call it?

she stands in pulp
before her own painting
and in the gallery before the
opening, exquisite become

from the couch
i stare towards wall
into sketched art, saved
from tweed flea and
staring into, Old Montreal
remembering the walk

when art is a snapshot memory
what do you call the lost fragments?

and the air was warm
your hand was in mine,
walking cobblestone and speaking
nothing that could not be interpreted
by a smile

and the woman stares at her own pulp

and i stare at my own Montreal

inquisitive become exquisite.


About Crazy Irishman

Touted as a working man's poet, Martin Durkin has been writing professionally for the last 12 years. He has appeared in over twenty anthologies across North America, including, "And left a place to stand on", a collection of poems and essays about the late great Al Purdy. Durkin has also published two collections of poetry, "Hypnotic Childhood", and "The Sound of Quish". Over the past 4 years, Durkin has been on hiatus for the most part but has recently come back to the poetry scene creating a poetry site called, where in the past year he has written over 100 poems and created a cross over page on where he gives a story behind each of the pieces written. View all posts by Crazy Irishman

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