Shuttling

Potrait of Dora Maar , 1937

by Pablo Picasso

Shuttling between
Two halves of myself
Day, afternoon and night.

Before a moment of laughter ceases
Hark, the other peg.
And as the head finds a spot of rest
Rings the parting bell.

I rush this way and that
With clumsy entries and exits.
Trailing behind disappointed faces
And too much unfinished business.

Shuttling between
Two halves of myself
Day, afternoon and night.
I am quite certain,
Long ago, on this very ride,
I have let slip a part of myself. 

To Be Alone

Party in Paris 

by Max Beckmann, 1947

To be alone isn’t an emptying of the room,

Faces vanishing into the night,

Walking other lanes,

Turning other corners.

To be alone isn’t voices no longer speaking your tongue

Abuzz, alien, apart.

To be alone isn’t just eyes turned away

Smiles beaming elsewhere.

To be alone perhaps

Is my steps slowing down,

Toward.

Across.

To be alone perhaps

is a sealing of the lips.

A turning blind with open eyes.

The smile left unused at the dresser.

To be alone perhaps

 is to leave the full room

And step into the wall.