Drawing, Painting, Figure

[Karl Czajkowski]

Drawing, Painting, Figure
(the hidden forms of debt)

Cracked an old scifi
book to load my head with
new images, but it didn't
jolt me into any sharpened
techno reality. Maybe 'cause
we've arrived, humanity
sprinkled between slick
plastic fixtures, the moss
on an old-growth pine
the bugs on the moss, stains
in the walls of some tall
gothic cathedral. Maybe I've
entered the years of my
tensed novella future, found
intersection with author
with his gantried existence
beneath the undulant glow
and urban remission. Or is
it just I've read this
before, in school under
the hulk of an old copper
and stone spire, read
some before at your soft
urging? I barely stomach
history, woke once to heave
from too much drinking and
wonder who's ever done that
in my older-than-me kitchen.
I owe so much to the few
to the ones who threw paint
off my scaffolds. I need to
fill my head with new images,
I wish you'd have stayed
while I worked to repay you.

--
Karl Czajkowski
kar...@cs.berkeley.edu