He stands there and works with shapes and thoughts
in the room behind the scullery
and a thousand miles from reality
Creates surreal worlds between oil and canvas
in air slightly spiced by turpentine and cigarette smoke
He has always stood like this
for as long as I can remember
in front of the easel where he creates fairytales and magical creatures
and plays with logic as if it was a kitten
He opens the doors for my escape beyond strings and chains
to the country in my mind where the Mammutant rules supreme
I can run and play with thoughts and ideas
past the Canyon of Sculls and past the Hills of Jelly
Turn left by the Chess Junction
and go on until I meet the strange crow
who knows the answers, as long as you ask the right questions
And if I take good care and walk silently as a mouse, it sometimes happens
if I am very lucky
that I meet myself in the fourth dimension
washed up with a cloud
of coal dust, oil and brush hairs
