The Color of Your Heart


he’s out there early most weekends

staking a spot on the boardwalk,

earlier then street folk still sleeping it off -the cops

even earlier then the sidewalk sweepers or the lemon-yellow parka dog walking woman out here visiting her sister from San Moritz, she's still coming to grips with the clash of the time zones

I’ll tell you something about art says 5-time Tony

(for reasons you can plainly see that are embossed about his person)

it’s cool man but too highbrow, it ain’t gonna wash with the local skateboard and pit-bull crowd

well Tony tell it to the LA Weekly, ‘cause for him it’s all in the upstroke the touch and the iridescent overlay of God’s hand, working off his childhood, the blues, kibitz and that war with Iran


he’s inland hooded, genuinely surprised if you bring up Rousseau though if you ever wondered what an early frost lacing on cherry leaves that are missing the shades of summer memories in a Virginia mist at morning -what that looks like, look here


I wonder if you saw him, before your last act return ticket back, walking by with an American friend or two or a newly enthusiastic though temporary lover in tow

If you’d seen him and that 3 sided wall of paintings you’d remember -but did you happen to notice the third canvas along the back propped up against the old Queen Palm’s rough accommodating bark

the one that’s impressively 5x7 feet, with a slow moving magenta river an iodine twilight sky and a cottage set back in the countryside

well there along it’s white pinewood fence a garden with a burst of impressionistic flowers, in clusters of pigment flowing first from ruddy red to pink then cooling to a pale flame blue

that’s the color of your heart