`tween the river, city, and trees is he.
Watery loins, with calm blue cover hiding throbbing fish, teeming life seeking everything but a wife.
Anchored in lust guided by thrust — walking head first into the night.
Pulsing city, pumping life warm in winter light at night — from human gravity comes crushing heat.
Seat of love, adorned in flashy stripes and hollow walls the city thrills and builds.
Glancing down, with bemused confusion at the hurrying pace and tugging gait the trees float in the calm wind.
Whispering with the footsteps of scurrying grey squirrels, chatting the buzz of a being a fragmented whole made of branches, twigs and leaves.
Can it be, that this is me? I glance at my rippled blue jeans my warm, faintly-pumping shirt but I cannot see — where is the tree?
It must be me.
Painting 1:
Limbo man