People just 'making' things to validate themselves...
dancing to give expression to technique,
making funny faces in the mirrors which reflect us,
as if art was technique and fad was prediction.
When you begin to close your hands on her waist, then you know.
When you fingers press and feel her give of warmth and nakedness
and you begin to smell her hair....
She is not marble or manikin nor is she abstraction or posed.
Your hands tell you she is real and your feelings sing of it.
And what you feel fills and emptys you like the wheat-fields and the seasons.
This is the music of mortality and the whisper of infinite mystery.
Let them paint their rocks, dance their techniques and worship idols,
I will drink at this fount.
Gallagher
10 Feb 1987
— Copyright 1965-2010 by Dennis Gallagher —