Coming out of shadows, caves, catacombs: doldrums really. Coming out,
as they look back at me and make faces; oh, they turn around and wave.
Sages of old. One hand lifts up, inviting me to enter. Let Ben Hur or
whoever else acknowledge them from bygone days, a mother and sister
being all as Hebraic time will allow...if a movie-world only.
Paul Gauguin wanting to paint knobby faces, women of Tahiti, all
in distinct shape and form, like my own artist’s hand being at it, my
a determined style, if you see what I mean. A grimace no less.
See, I am also coming out of a cave, with shadows all around.
Do I really know? Do you?
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