Messy Analytics

I am still attracted to the story of his mystery I can travel trough his drawings and feel them like new rooms within myself Like how memory saturates, swells and ebbs as it is overwritten It surges when I see his marks There is a home here- somewhere the search for a home A stained paradise Of sharp gesture and loose colored string What happiness I believe he feels when lonely What a world there on the wall That I've found myself lost in It is gesture and it is space I see you there Do not try to fool me I am alone and turned around in your charcoal and pastels But it reminds me of you- it feels of you and aches of you My forgetfulness and absence is at a glance revoked And I've only memory of few words and glances spared to start — so I am compelled ever inward Again wanting to discover the secret and ordinary truth Behind your visage and your stroke