Lost at Seize


You don’t paint your canvas,
around their corners,
fabric stains unadorned,
cut the periphery of your wailing paint.

You’re so saint,
we drink our wine,
and consider the colours, textures,
and brush you choose.

A small wait refreshes the observation,
being careful, not to see,
the incidental face portrait of tortures
thespian tangled, in the weave of Smith’s nuance.

Gordon finds random compositions,
beyond his ability to see,
we wait in the gallery,
in a storm of early snow.

We need better snow tires
on the Camaro.

Poetry is not always in motion.

Note for you: opening night for Gordon Smith, exquisite painter, at Equinox Gallery 2016


Leave a Reply

Fill in your details below or click an icon to log in:

WordPress.com Logo

You are commenting using your WordPress.com account. Log Out /  Change )

Google+ photo

You are commenting using your Google+ account. Log Out /  Change )

Twitter picture

You are commenting using your Twitter account. Log Out /  Change )

Facebook photo

You are commenting using your Facebook account. Log Out /  Change )


Connecting to %s