ghosts and dust

I make things here

this place
is the world's closet

a suitcase for me
packed with all kinda stuff

covered in dust and lint

I can open it
anytime I want

but it can be messy

There are ghosts in there

many of them do not

belong to me

I traded cash for old memories

I'm often handed plastic bags

containing items
that once cut their owners

musty books that harbor ghosts

of dead girlfriends

photos cracked with the weight of tears

you push the button, we do the rest

photos that hold beloved pets in place forever

or just as long as the Kodak moment lasts

enough time for the owner to forget

just who Sparky really was

which fact in itself
counts for a tear or two

enough of that

these things need to be freed

from their anchors

from their lead hearts

to become mediums

that say something else

to speak in different tongues

we'll still recognize them

as having meaning before word

yet able to talk of new voyage

of new uncharted places

and speak for others

who are not yet dead.

they resemble

nothing so much as

sentiment fleeting,

as fickle as a young suitor

but wrinkled and cracked

with the burden of experience

and the brutality of fact.

The painting above (18" X 18") was done quite awhile back. At the time, I was painting from photographs of boxers and have quite a few of them-I'm bringing a bunch of the smaller ones down to the show in Georgia with me.

"The Brutality of Fact" is a fragment of a quote by the painter Francis Bacon, as well as the title of a book of interviews conducted by David Sylvester with the painter.