…artist/artist

Light is his game and colourimg_5422ed2-small

is his object, abjection and absolution. Falsely it hangs

whilst on other days he ignores, ignores, ignores (laughing).

 

It plays the games, fooling us all, including you (denial is no solution)

and those in the sky from where it falls, locked tight in places incomprehensible.

 

I’d like to roam on cliff tops, edges, ragged like my sense of purpose

and understanding, but at least I try. We must let it play, play out, play on,

play for them and for the others, the game of transformation, of altering

the frame. To alter is to break, or should be, in this sense, abjectly and absolutely.

 

Free them now, as they should be. I’m not mentioning rainbows, though

you may recall rainbows, now and after the words end. Their creator knows, ours unknowing

but still so  fucking far away, mocking from underground, from nebulae, from inside.

Let’s fucking see what happens when we unlock those places, let it land, unlock the innards

and fall to our knees.

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