.
Today
when drawing made me add and mix and cultivate
and
infiltrate and undermine and unrepentingly remand
to
thirsty textured stiff white paper – where I hunkered
down
(just right behind the firing line) for hours today –
.
my
whole armée of colored markers,
pencils and the single
square-edged
stick of azure chalk I’ve got to keep things
sometimes
hazily and sometimes brazenly in situ – from
and
into which they, on their oceanic own, fight messy wars
.
with
one another to eke out a unity, a singularity, a whomp –
at
last I recognized the not-for-profit complicated business
I’m
now in. I sort out on surfaces a grand arena in which
colors
can assert their purposes. Takes an angry mob of them
.
to
do this job. Is this a narrative that wants to tell itself I’m
letting
tell itself? Not intended. Although by all means, if you
see
one, have your way with it: lick it, kiss it, kick it, bend it.
While
I am not too swift on human beings’ leanings, I guess
.
these
colors could suggest the possibility of something we
might
just as well (hell, given who is wielding them) call
“human
meanings.” Whatever they may be. “Play with me!”
they
cry. “Okay,” I’ve made it now my business to reply.
.
.
.
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