Robert Lowell
said ‘imperfection
Is the language
of art’. Grief was
In my
heart the day that I painted
This, my evil dad broke her.
Thirty
one years of marriage
And he
had two daughter’s
and
another wife who died
of cancer, Spearhead was my
nickname
for him.
I knew
something wasn’t right
We never
spoke, eye contact.
You can be a bastard but
don't ever be a cunt.
Can you paint the grief?
The hurt
you cannot see.
This is
oceans deep and wide.
An ex-brit
who killed brits
And I am
a brit who hated
To love
him and vice versa.
The
black ulsterated hills
Is in
his heart, he abused
My
brother/sister that was
On my
mind, urn ashes
And
paint, beauty is in
Truth
and truth is beautiful.
Mum-bled for me
I mumbled her, just three
let-hers: Pat
Ashes to ashes
a painted life you will all
ways live in me
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