Render Unto Ceasar...


The ghost ship drowned around
half past seven
around the same time
I discovered the simple pleasures of pure expression,
like a post World War II city blown to hell
with no one around
except the ghosts and the smoke,
a stranger walked up to me
just like a summer night
and he said.
Here I am
Asking about the rain,

a true keeper
taking down your visions,
then he said
the painting's propped against the wall in my bedroom pending construction
standing in front of it last night
up close and personal
it seemed like the days of blue rain
were upon me,
Here I am
Asking about the rain again
and the rain in Smoke City is wet this time of year,

it's always eye level hanging on the wall
and I'm constantly nearly brushing against it
as I walk by,
but with it standing on the floor right in front of me
it's different every time I see it
the blood of her flowers
indeed


I see
I said

I was drawn so much more deeply into it then
even when it did rain in Smoke City,
it was overwhelming!

I swear once I get the joke
I will laugh

I'm sitting on a bus and driving by this city
and the rain is pouring down the windows
these horizontal lines seem to appear
they mean something I think
I stare and they continue,

I'm sitting on a train at night
looking out of the window
the city is passing by again
maybe another city
it does not matter
they seem all the same from here
when you are going this fast,
and while I see what's going on outside
I'm noticing at the same time
the reflections inside the car
that's what those horizontal lines are suggesting
they are telling me
how to see
but also the feeling of speed
blurs even my imagination,

the pattern in the sky
is looking like the the horizontal lines of the window
pouring rain makes the running seem sideways
like a mindspill
this has a special feel,

I've seen scenes like this so often
years and years, hundreds of times
it's looking so familiar
that's why it's so special maybe
everywhere and nowhere
every inch of the shapes and colors
like rewatching 'Masked and Anonymous' for the 8th time
I heard Bob Dylan won a Pulitzer Prize today
good for him
if anyone ever deserved it
why not him

black and red and yellow exploding and dancing right in front of me,
the eye to the details of the canvas
are important
the words are too

where I seem to be able to touch the brush strokes of that flat blue
the change in perspective was absolutely absolute

almost like I felt how you created it ...

yea,
it was a pretty intense and magical experience...


I'd like to go there again