Wednesday, 19 December 2012

on the edge of breath

on the edge
of breath
the centre point
on the knife edge
of existence 
the world breathes
through me

it's not a hobby
not a job
this is my life
my reason for living
the activity
that this body
is best suited to doing

I'm not 'expressing myself'
there's nothing 
that I 'have to get out'
it's not me
that's the glory of it
I don't decide on these paintings
concoct them
cleverly situate them
along side
past works 
to the history of art

I bow down
to the shapes
and dreamscapes
of the natural world
stare deeply
into the lips
of a barnacle
clinging to a rock

the archetypal 
of its myriad forms
in the eternity
of its black


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