Bricolage

lest I wander,
Always do.
Lest I am lost,
 always am,
In the progression of my contraries,
I swift, sidle , and flitted past.
In all the twists I meander
never timid in my sharp turns
and the bends smooth, but the intent lasts.
brush strokes, sprayed and mopped.
Then a careful , light placed incline
to the paint in the backdrop slopped.


A pastel here, smudged by the undertone
of starker, darker and bold,
cutting, plastered, origami papered
and at the edges not center, the paste shall hold.
here a fact strewn, there, a logic misplaced
left to their devices, but never overlooked in glaze.

Swiftly I phase,
Swiftly I unlearn,
add a florid wrapped paper parcel,
I'll scratch off the fixing tapes.
Cutting confetti from the silver,
and mashing the ribbons scraped.

Turn the boxes upside down,
house in one,
rest in another.
and cut holes from the cardboard,
string them to the life sized doubles.
peep out through the vents,
smooth in their edges,
but not in my intent.

then when all the sundry gathered
and turned and twisted in potpourri,
fragrant chaos rises, coloured in chance,
do not sift or pick or tidy
, just add my bottled romance.
Stain it with my wine,
let it run over the work.
let it bathe in it's full bodied nature,
Like my blood has filled it's veins,
Like my blood is oozed and drained,
with the trickle of a passion,
A bricolage embodied.
An emanation
of all possible
and the erst en-caged probable.

Olios boxed and wrapped in cardboard.

What a hotchpotch have you created midst the patterns, when the tangles seek to untangle themselves , you take a needle and sew with a thread right through. Beading and rosaries, buttons and chinks, cartilage from the fish you chewed on, the bones of your hunt, the horns and tails of the devils you tamed, the tooth sabred and savoured, take the sharp trinkets collected in a while now and needle them into your garland of myriad. Experiences that you are seeking, experiences that are fleeting,experiences that have bothered you the least,bring them out of that box, the one that is lidded at the dark corners of your cupboard.The box that has been wisely stored in oblivion and now cut the string that knots them all in the peripheries, for I have found a treasure of olios. The one I seek to add to mine. Open the box, then I'll throw them into fire, or lock them at will, or simply put on display.