On the (L)Edge

by John J. Trause

On the (L)Edge

     I liked looking at other people in crucial situations. If there
     was a road accident or a street fight or a baby pickled in a
     laboratory jar for me to look at, I’d stop and look so hard I
     never forgot it.
                        Sylvia Plath [Victoria Lucas], The Bell Jar
                        (1963, 1967, 1971)

Behold the Eighth Wonder of the World and
the Most Beautiful Suicide, Fallen Body,
iconized in death and in Life and Life and
screen print, whirling around her May Day
maypole atop the Empire State Building or
nestled on her funeral bier, a crushed limousine,
with gloves and pearls intact, in fact, arrayed
in chic fashion, fashionable and modern,
legs crossed at ankles, made up and perfect,
serene in her slumber, a little Eve tempted to the
edge and ledge, a hedge against survival, a rival
icon for the icon of iconic architecture      

Ben–Day
Day–Glo
Pre–Pop
Pop

a hop, a skip, and a jump, a drop,
the most beautiful slump of slumber.

And west in the Westbeth
at rest in the tub,
other photographs shot,
never arranged on a contact she
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