Where the Sun Don’t Shine

"UNDERBELLY", 2008, 20" x 8" x 5", ceramic


‘Round these parts in Santa Fe where the sun shines 300 days out of the year, we get a little skittish when it doesn’t.

We blame our dour moods on the barometric pressure.

But really, we’re quite addicted to the light.

The huge population of ‘Santa Fe ‘seekers’ tend always toward the light.

The darkness holds no elan.

The shadows are full of stuff it takes too much energy to see.

Nothing looks as pretty or resolved or ordered there.

In between the parts of me I have scanned and tended to and ‘fixed’,

Are pockets of yet unexplored territory.

I shun them.

Push them to the back of the room.

Relegate them to the back 40…

Sometimes, like this morning, they scratch persistently at the edge of a dream.

Their face oddly familiar but I don’t want to answer the door.

They seem messy.

Unkept. Hollow.

Needy of my attention.

I say: “NO.”

“You may not have me.”

I fiercely protect the good life I’ve achieved. ┬áThe sunny Spring day.

But tucked under their arm, I see the glint of a golden thing..

Stained by perspiration and smelling a bit foul.

And still… there it is: SOMETHING I WANT IS THERE!

And I must invite them in if I’m to have any chance at all

Of a life of freedom to act and react and MOVE and create

From an untainted place

Of undefended life.


Come on in.. you burly, revolting creature

I’ve built a nice looking cage for.

Come on in and have your way.

I’m a pretty good wrestler so be prepared to drop your gold

And scoot out the door

After I rip off your masks and take a strong bar of soap to your pernicious scent.

We’ll both be the better for it.


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