I saw one of your paintings in a conference hall today.

Is it weird that I felt sorry for it?

I always thought your work evoked a kind of madness,

A toxic void,

A brilliant bright darkness that

Tore me open,

And here was one of your pieces

Lost in the mundane curation

of a one-size fits all “state-of-the-art” facility.

It looked kind of bored.

Hanging there.

It used to have so much to say.

Across the room, behind the chatter,

This precense simply swallowed and waited,

Avoiding eye contact because it knew it could see

Through us all, but didn’t have the energy.

It didn’t want to be seen I think, anymore,

It looked kind of ashamed, pretending to be beautiful,

Pretending like it could just hang on a wall.

Your art never just hung on a wall, it called out,

in fury,

in fury.