An investigation for jesters
and saints,
this sadness of a man,
this separated ghost,
this disconnected stare
in brittle glass,
unrecognized reflection
of nothing known
in this frozen liquid sand,
pinned to a drawing board,
crucified
in clouds of calendars
and an ambiance
of echoing silence.
Ghost of a ghost
exiled from connection
to all familiar senses,
wandering lost
in a papier-mache world
filled with mute puppets
and the creeping feet of madness
drifting on autumn leaves,
the dumb changing of seasons
and the cold winds to come.
There was a voice once
filling days and nights,
sweet ectoplasms of love
buried now in the heavy quiet
of collapsing bridges
and the broken entities of light.
There was a precious presence
partnering in mirrors,
a twinning wholeness
held gently in his hands,
now crumbling into dust
and blown on September winds
across a face
that is a stranger to itself.
There was music and whispers
tongued and lipped
across vibrating cells,
songs of angels and dreamers
gagged now and gone,
leaving a face alone
to face itself,
a double haunting.
ex silentio.
self-portrait drawing and poem by clinock.
art rat cafe 