(National Gallery of Australia)

Chaos crawls across the wall.
It mirrors things I see inside me. All
those forms that should be cold and solid scald
and boil behind my mind. Old fears catch fire
then fuel ignited canvas and the poles
that keep those hissing, blistering things fenced in,
that shield me from those reaching tendrils, sway,
totter, lean and weaken now. I’ll stay
and watch them char then smoulder, flame and fall.
Soon those alive and writing shapes will pour
across the floor
and then pursue me as I back away.