Biography of a Self-Portrait

A paint bespeckled face,

I see you.

Tight lipped and stern

with an eye designed to find the depths

of abstraction

in the tone-deaf melody of life.

Your hands brush the bending colors of reality,

in a blend of tender textures.

With rosewood pipe

resting on the crest of your lips,

you define what you desire,

creating distance only a foot

from your canvas.

Gently balancing between

the internal and external,

your habits leave a humble impression.  

The ocean waves lap beyond you, sternman.

The docks splinter under the weight of your step.

A giant among men, yet unknown.

Too early to live amongst his own myths.

Perhaps the salt water

will wash the hardened paint

from your trousers

yet.

Michael Carney