Long, narrative poem written by the author
on the day of her third art opening.

A Purpled Glance at Love and Peace The saxaphone and piano beat rhythm to my soul. You perched atop my red neo-modern couch with its pliant, molded seat and steel tubed legs, read psalms and proverbs from the watchtower book. Left by two christian students, yesterday at noon. One had a librarian look, with straight auburn hair and rectangular glasses while the other, a younger woman, with perfect teeth and golden toned vowells. I sigh and rearrange and arrange my notes, spilling ink like blood from my veins. I say."There's the art opening tonight," and you sleeping and dozing again in your noir cashmere cardigan from Italy. The day spreads before me like a long highway-- the "Sunset Strip" or one of my paintings with yellow and azure shapes and hills beyond. I glance at the soles of your feet, entombed in rubber with lines and curves like a deconstructivist building by Frank Gehry. The straw and hay from your farm intermingles with cigarette buts and smells like late evening. I say, "...you are the King, and you say"...you are the dominatrix."