the artist

my paintings
are everywhere,
they have become
my friends,
my companions,
they line the walls
of my house,
stacked one against
the other,
in the kitchen,
they even crowd
the bathroom.
i can almost hear
their chatter
in the night,
bickering about how
cramped it's becoming.
i've run out of space
for them, but i
can't stop myself,
my hands each day find
a new color, a fresh
white canvas and a face
to bring alive with
my strokes of gold
and blue, titian red,
raw umber, lamp black,
i am on a subway
of faces that
never change,
i'm hanging onto
the strap as this
life i lead rolls on.