Poems

Dress Rehearsal

By Peter Halstead

I hear it’s latent, age,
Like angles in a rock:
An art form, like camouflage,
With skin invested in the look

That granite brings to beige –
(Anything that works onstage).
The sharp and shallow glance
Of flesh made papier-mâché

Is a forest hollowed out of plants.
Taking hold of earth like ants
That ring the painted cake
With, on the make-up

Table, rouge and base.
Only touch can break
The ravages of stone
Into points the hand can make,

Into facets of the bone
That stay cemented on the page.

October 5th, 1982, Bedford