Strange Parade - November 7, 2014

Three drawings face me in a strange parade –

they somehow just got made by something

in whatever gooses me to deal with what appalls.

Just now, while workmen ripped large holes in my

New York apartment’s walls, replaced two pipes, then

plastered all the blight up so I might return to the illusion

of supernal happy Fate I like my home to promulgate –

three drawings of a narrative I wish I could tease out

came seizing my capacities to wring them to their

purpose and their pleasure. I look – see only surface –

have no notion what they’re doing whatsoever.

Except to know beyond all measure that in all this

full fat midst of strife, drawing saves my life.






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