To render dynamic the quiet, an orange dreams through a blue blanket in a basket of oriental aromas. The stranger arrives and places her soft hand in mine. There are transformations and dusky potentials. The room is pebbled with suggested persons. Night comes on again. What a blur you are oh so modern man within the music of magic. Sacred melody – who wrote the song you sing? Whoever is listening with crystal ears may know and so may we all. Take another long and thirsty look – seeing coloured lines spilled on paper – finding silent, wet and longing lips that want everything yet give nothing. Sensitive line, whispered words – where do you go when gone? Sensual energy of touch – nothing oh, oh, oh, can be disguised forever. In the cloud of unknowing there are stained mirrors with no remedy. There are woven hearts, staring eyes, split stems and golden frogs. They are all gone now to the fog covered lake – lost in thinly pearled dreams. Now there are giants in the air – tyrants hard to bear – naked words distorted by clothed thought. So wrap my sayings in a bundle of silk – tie with blue cords and leave in a moon drenched field. So what did you expect – So what did you expect?
(Art and poem by Clinock)