ecstatic reds and oranges
bright but I can’t comment on technique
dazers in their bizarring pauses
on wary’s abandoning squares
and miniatures of things you over and over again
think
shouldn’t be

away from it all I am quaint with missiles
and I like both their represented strokes
and their monstrous reality

and the marshall’s careful poultry walkers alter my trajectory more than himself

am I the silent one in delegation
in my tower?
at once the outcast and lighthouse
o’er this wispy disheveled community
in which I dabble, of course
sometimes in accompaniment
to their howls at black
sometimes absent entirely