mad balloons

dance in the body paint
the colour pools, breathing, while past the hairline
under the surface light
and pulled out in full drenched form.
dry in the sun as globs
of yellow and orange – balloons that
roll snow machines down our bodies
in avalanche, until, the caked form dries
and is a desert in search of water.
the sculptor comes in,
scrapes away what is no longer us
leaving behind the pattern of wishes
and attitudes, in, simple smiles below
a canopy sun – summer – dropped – madness (delight)


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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