I look up and see, this life- living in me
As witnessed on the walls, of seasons- passed.
These walls, limited- will that limit own me?
The time to rearrange the scenery
Has come. Is here; Is NOW.
A canyon- shifting, magma motivated
To burn and reveal: unspecified claims
I need a new outcropping
Of cognizant boulders
That beg for creation, to lift, and bring to life
What has been waiting in these shoulders
All along. All along, all along….
The aesthetic is energy
Potential. Willingness. Otherness.
Conception, to dream, within a dream
To extract tension, and throw it
Chuck it hard; blatant in all its wretched form
Against walls, against platforms, against canvas
Slather the potent feeling
And baste it until it resigns. And,
In its resignation, entices new life to unfold;
Giving hard lines to develop
The nerve that has patiently waited
To bang the gong of release.
Action to architecture,
Archiving the motivation that burns
Hot- in the belly, in the throat, in the box
This constitution of self, promoting silence within itself
IS enough. Enough. ENOUGH.
Splatter this drought with droves of strokes.
The manifestation of life has been hiding
Long dormant leaves, rustling
Vehemently denying that they will fall before color
Beg in strident waves… to come
Come hard, and with heavy handed purpose
Creating new life, among the mud of Fall.