Your own breath makes you panic
intensifying as the daylight brings
the thieves who spend hours figuring
out what it all really means. You
disappear as this sensitivity sends
you into a small, hollow, dark place.
Solitude and vulnerability lead you
into the obscure.
Will you push and attack to escape?
Will you find some essence that could
bring content and nuance to those long,
reclusive hours? Let your artwork cut
a path through the cloister in the gallery.
Or will your suspicions nail the wood
doors shut into that small shed
in the fog?