Torn shadow

Glass enamel is the jeweller's tool, paper more the paupers fool

The gang of four or the curate's egg

Layered, with an icing gun

Erratic the Delineate artist from kingdom come

I beg to know more

What tore pray tell me; flowers, hearts

Carrion in wheelbarrows, that dart across the cobbled narrows

Pray tell me, I'm easily led

A continuous scrawl, never to be set free, unconditional rage

Art becoming to be

Did you kiss the shopping list? I do it myself when writing

The stubble gum drags me back on dull days fighting

A final part to your jigsaw

Drips me back, zips the wings that try

The torn shadow overlaps the dust jacket's fly

No one to know before the show

Be ready by eight they said 

Champagne instead with cocktails strewn

For tonight Delineate renews the looms

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Line drawing

Dark and satanic - Yorkshire art in Yorkshire space

The derelict carpet canvas rung out

Fettled back into a new loom of life

Not a time to make sense

I too missed my five minutes of fame

It needs more room

Clutter amongst clutter becomes cluttered

Art gallery

Insurance company headquarters

Utilitarian hotel

The exhibition, it will soon be about

Settled back

Art

In place of life

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Mirror image

Catch 22 at Delineate

Your art in lines

Layered

On lost and found and printed paper

Tea party words saved for a canvas

Backdrops collected from the streets

For your de-linear exhibition space

Is this a breach of copyright?

Or did you gain your permissions from the original graphic artists

Or typesetters

Or menu makers

Or authors, or writers 

Or tramps, or vagrants

Or ladies of the night

Or your otherwise

Catch-22 mad hatters

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Dislocated

A table set, with cutlery almost perfect - just the one plastic fork. A football field all stripped out in stripes and checks and a referee in glorious pink. Necklaces of bauble diamanté, polished pearls with just the one skeleton eye socket. Rolled over waves of skin wrapped outside the crimpolene and translucent lyrex; most people try to disguise their differences.

But the artist shouts out loud

Look at me I don't give a damn

I'm me

I am supposed to be.

A pretty dress, a Zimmer frame, a swimsuit

All seen through fantastical eyes

Feminist: Black or brown, gay or straight

But no mention of disabled

A collection of paintings

An exhibition

A self of self portraits

Hey you it's me!

So just what did you expect?

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Resonance of the unknown

Grasp the hot poker, stop the shaking, peel away the burnt skin

Steady the nerve, hold still the brush, pick up the mirror

I know nothing of you

But you disturb me

Good that the youngsters shout

That the attendant admonishes

That I am not left alone, simply to be

Nearby are ruins and cathedrals

Torturous pasts, crawled over whispers

I know nothing of you

But still you disturb me

In an easy armchair, on a quiet morning

The storms, they seem to have passed

Grey skies, now with silver sunlight

Soft music falls over the airwaves

Still I know nothing of you

But you disturb me

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