Start somehow at the edge of the page
No margin, no header, no run out
Be short on placement
And in the equation, the recipe
Is it three fifths canvas
Two tenths ideas
Twenty per cent the fool
Plus a margin for the fabrication
Start somehow not at the first thought
The proposition more like
Maybe at night
Under neon
Glue, paste, collage…run out
With jazz at play in the background
Sinking a glass of vodka martini
With the actuaries
Or with the underwriters
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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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
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
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?