We put things on paper
In words
On paper
Because we are afraid to live
With them inside our head
We hide them somewhere else
Sometimes I feel the nuances
Of light
Like varied moods
Dim.Dimming.Almost off.Then on.
Can I think is me really be me?
Am I afraid to stop this writing?
For it gives me hope
Of what nature?
I’m not sure.This is not great Art
Is there such a thing?
Boundaries between Life and Art?
Am I just creating more mirrors.
As if I don’t have enough
Aside from all
The ego goes soaring
Soaring on the drug of what I am
What I want to be
I sit here reading the rain
Like a newspaper
As it makes it’s attack on the town
In black gumboots and orange sou’ wester
Casting out the burden of speculation
Washing away the thought
.
Malcolm Paul
Picture Nick Victor
.