Merle Nudelman

  For Richard B. Wright   He binds them without knot, twine or even splice, binds the agreeable words one to the other and others like the elements of water they cleave in storied delight while each continues to expound: sprung leaves on a rushing stream, unbound.…

  Now he burns blue, spits at the scythe and hood, paints cruel age, the impotence — phallic pipes, the artist’s severed hand,   fecund woman scorning the besotted old man. Stained grey, splayed his fingers grip the brush, jab at the muted palette — fanned strokes   swift and uncluttered, duplicity discarded as his final years wrestle across the…