Sky - Object writing Jan 28th
admin January 28th, 2008
The sky is a viewfinder for the stars, for the infinity. I taste the stars like sherbet on my tongue, each one a miniature expolsion, a frison, sending an earthquake inside me, these sherbet stars feel red hot, fire cinders glowing in my palm, looking out to me from a log fire heater. The flame dance playing out beyond the smoky stained glass, the handle creaks when you put more wood in, creaks like a high pitched frog ,a front gate in need of oiling.Oiling the bike chain, thick smudges of muddy oil over hands, thick and gelatinous, getting between the ridges in your skin seeping down like wood stain into the wood, Solvol, fake chemical smell as you wrestle the alligator lid off. The vacuum seal popping like a balloon, floating up into the sky on a school fete day, a little tail, a little dot higher and higher , up to the edge of space, attaching to a satellite, a tiny sun arcing across the dark.
Daylight brings blue or grey, blue or grey like the sea wall at Elwood, the clashing waves and bluestone hiss together, the sea running out to the sky on an Olympic sprint, merging into one sometimes, when the sea and sky share the same part of the artists palette. Each sunrise a new day is painted in, clouds are spatulated into place, white caps foam over grey waves, running into freighters, and launches and yachts. Tasting of brine and saltiness, feeling abrasive , cold buoyant.
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