So Terse The Canvas To The Blind Man
He Paints A Mouth Expressive And Alive
He Maps A Body So Stainless And Sterile
Except The Eyes Wandering Voids
Shimmering Light Casting Shadows
Like Some Faust Ballet Reflect Across The Breast
And Turning To His Victim Encumbered
He Can't Recognise Or Understand
With Tethered Feet
Together Sewn At The Wrists His Arms
A Few Scattered Leaves To Dress Him
In Sylvan
Idol And Masterpiece Entwined
Touch The Embossed And Redefine
A Life Time Is Nothing But Confronting Beliefs
When The Clay Is Set And Then Shattered
He Shapes A Figure Receding Back Into The Trees
And By His Leg A Broken Figurine
Understanding Flickers In His Mind
With The Memory Of A Statuette
A Line Dredged Across His Throat
And Holes Bored Into His Cheeks
With Splintered Glass To Decorate His Waist
When Stale The Morning Comes
And Fear Has Cauterised
In These Moments Of Passing Life And Passive Tides
Confused Of All This Confused Of Everything
Head Bowed Below This Thing
Head Bowed The Palette Slides
His Final Flourish Is Not By Brush
But By Ruby A Hand

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