LA | NY A Special Edition of The East Village

Marcella Durand


Your brush is angled & creative,
touches the spicy leaf of applique,
of hurricanes and wet lashings,
canings, and strippings, damp
sunshine. An umbrella, a tele-
optic cable turning inside out,

revealing copper to the onset
of the storm. If you should
hold the jelly eggs and brush
over the linseed drippings
into time, then should the
couch of receiving be set

aside and the reupholster
of entailment and owing
be striped and egg-like.
Tempered pure and springy,
as in a cave full and branched
into the substratum and the

lower sub-sub stratums and
even below that to come up
again into the border-like
frog eggs and tadpoles
surrounding-like in the
warmth of algae and clay

surpassing and being fired
and rolled and fermented. To
pour down the linseed oil and
the turpentine, to see again reappear
in the corners of the rivers and
the ponds. And the storm to
dispersal and the oil dispersing
through bifocals and glass,

and the telescope aiming
outwards and the metal part
warm against the eye, focusing
and admiring, the admirer,
of the horizon and viewpoint.
The sea-pathways.
Home and over curve.