THE RETURN OF CHUCK CONNELLY


No art is ever ended
or left on a scaffold

or roped off, drip dry
in a museum or mansion

but is a liquidity's
of color and shaped

expansion of your eye
in an antennae's extension

for second viewing
and third showings

here in a museum
in your art house

no misguided lights
of cameras are inside us

but emerge
from others sabotage

like a Van Gogh ear piece
on hold back cul-de-sacs

in loveliness
of stone

from geometric shapes
of flesh in a tour de force

we are resurrected
as art like jazz atones

in anecdotal riffs
on an ambivalent landscape

through terrifying voices
in self inhibition

until the time is ready
for a measure of disclosure

by significance
of a catalogue or recollection

absent on art wall anonymity
from the wold's envy or enmity

no invitations sent out
from original cave artists

in aboriginal connection
with new found fossil bones

waiting for a gallery exhibition
in abstract modernist expression

Chuck Connelly you do not return
you never left us.