The Paintings of Philip C. Curtis
It became dusky, then darker the moment I leaped
off the path of conjecture into this imaginarium.
Looking out and up, confused faces stared back at me.
My call for the North Star to appear in a blank sky
went unanswered.
It doesn’t matter where I look in this alien landscape,
my blood pulses loneliness, my anxiety deepens.
There was endless slogging through sand and
staged scenarios of broken wagons,
useless train station platforms, solitary baby carriages,
more loneliness, pointless tea parties,
and a woman running from some unknown danger,
leaving her hanging laundry to snap in the wind.
In fear of this wasteland, I saw nowhere to go,
yet an endless, hopeless, incoherent road enticed me.
I made my way through the wrinkles of pastures,
the tilt of bones, and leaves drinking moonlight.
Dodging partiers on stilts, I staggered the way of stones
and gravel, almost to infinity, until, at the precipice of nowhere,
in a panic, I made my escape, loosed my anxieties,
leaped blind into darkness nearing dawn,
into the welcoming warmth of sheet and blanket,
and the familiar creaks and groans of my body and house.
Outside, an owl hooted; the coyotes barked.
From: In Transition
Unpub. MS p. 40
For more about this artist, see
https://phxart.org/artists/philip-curtis/
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