W a l l s o f r o c k e v e r y w h e r e.
Grey, brown, black or blue
Close up or far away
Every time I set out to paint the landscape of my mind
Mountains crop up.
Go figure why.
Could it be because my life is an obstacle course
A constant ascension
With the stumbling blocks of my own vulnerability
And the prejudice of others?
I paint cliffs too, you know
Jagged, they are, and torn asunder by crevasses
Dug by the relentless onslaught of waves
Deep into the sea, they too
Like a Van Gogh painting of the later years
These bulwarks of inertia.
Immobile as the gates of Hades
They stand there
Allowing the elements to shape them
According to their whims.
They don’t realize
That power resides in mobility, and that
Once locked in granite
You abdicate all initiative
To your assailants