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'La Clef Des Champs,' René Magritte, 1936

When the landscape breaks, shards of painted trees,

clouds, turf cascade in crystal slabs onto

the carpet – and the landscape is there still

on the next pane. Over the brow of the rise

are the world’s kingdoms: deserts silenced

by polished bone; uneasy rooms where

sepia furniture flowers; canvas; wood;

the gallery’s wall solid as money –

asservir le bourgeoisie through draughtmanship.

The artist’s mother was pulled from the Sambre,

a suicide – the night-dress shrouding

her face. When the world breaks…breaks…there is death

only or servitude.

© Copyright David Selzer
1 Response
  • John Huddart
    December 1, 2010

    You peel back the layers of the onion! Tears and Tears!

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