BANNA PUTS ON MASCARA

Banna putting on mascara
on her grey eyes
as you clear your face
for your clients
when men glance
and swoon
in your woolen sweater
including those of science
and nifty fine arts
who composed
for me love letters
about your viscera surprise
whom you should have
known a bit better
between night and noon
then moans breathlessly
when the now infamous legend
of dead men bones
from your new groom
is disclosed
in a curtained seance
which now arises in London
behind the curtains
slowly in a worst wonder
between night and first light
shuddering in the blonde sun
with their rag tag combs
offering a ring of love to her
in the living archives
as actors far from their homes
among the leering abstracts
cross haired artifacts
and Party hacks
awakening from nuanced
your sound bites
in the troubled underground
by the day bed's mirror
out of doubled doors
hiding a fake stolen Vermeer
under your arms
in a spying C.I.A. dossier
now running away
from last Sunday's
wedding day
having an Indian pudding
as an appetizer
reaching out
with a hand and finger ring
in her sandy feathered hat
sighting Catty Potter
on Brighton beach
with a purple umbrella
in the weathered rain
with several clothes bloggers
running over red flagstones.