The paint doesn’t move the way the light reflects,
so what’s there to be faithful to? I am faithful
to you darling. I say it to the paint. The bird floats in the unfinished sky with nothing to hold it.
the man stands , the day shines. His insides and his outsides kept apart with an imaginary line—
thick and rude and imaginary because there is no separation, fallacy of the local body, paint on paint. I have my body and you have yours. believe it if you can. negative space is silly.
when you bang on the wall you have to remember you’re on both sides of it already, but go ahead, yell at yourself. Some people don’t understand anything. They see the man, but not the light, they see the field but not the varnish. There is no light in the paint, so how can you argue with them?
they are probably right anyway. I paint in his face and I paint it out again. There is a question I am afraid to ask: to supply the world with what?