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Thursday, August 5, 2021

The Town (August Strindberg), Sonnet #574


 












We anthropomorphize

The abstract — lips and eyes,

Masks and numberless crowds,

From fleeting thunderclouds.

When did we come to find

The null of abstraction,

The absence of the signed,

So full of attraction?

The painter knew the pain

Of love and betrayal.

This painting is insane,

His obsessions’ dark veil.

The distant golden town

Is a meaningless noun.



My book of the first 200 of these sonnets is now available for purchase at Amazon. Click here:

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