Turpentine chimaera

The First Image on Entering the Gallery
THE aspect I thought to partake of
Casual quiet alone and the
Wide grimace to be inane
Aud'bly smirk sardonic scorn.
Still the choice I have between
Both, one of which receives a
Grimmer grin when mordant the wit
Which leaves but one: return.

The Second Image
A web of vivid movements
Holds me in its grasp, though
Profound its depths which lured me in
To bounce my eyes back
Into the gallery.

The First Image
A rigid stare peeps from behind
The hollow sockets deep
Forcing mine to delve into their
Dazzling darkness
Torn is the parlous shroud
This apparition wears
Who breathes anew resuming voice
With the view of finding ears.

The Third Image
Thus the mind sharp with
Feverish chimaera, each
Sense engaged and
Merged into a blend
(The cries that found themselves
Shiv'ring o'er my spine
Stir such taste of turpentine that
Space is clear to resound),
Myself I find
Drawn into the landscape
To be surveyed and dwelt upon.

Half of the sun submerged
For gleams and shades alike
To ridge the erstwhile gloss and stretch
The slopes up to the pike,
My wand'rings reel dispersed
Across the canvas wide
Which exceeds by sharp relief
Its listless lifelessness:
The same chiaroscuro through
Which the expanse immures me
Obtrudes the path that leads beyond the
Horizon's span.

The Fourth Image
-Out through the next... No
Wind to carry the sheets, has vexed the
Placid sea, breathes tacit silence...
The surface so conspicuously smooth
I must be the pivot of these ripples,
As Aeolus I press the winds from their recess
And hoist the canvas as the sailor.
Waves of one wave, first
Plodding and jostling, break step,
Unravelled, steal a march
To dislodge me hence from this watery grave
The dark waters I ride
Revolt, swill out the dead seaweed, like
Shoals through meshes 'scaped
The sea, unshackled, bellows: Liberty!
Still inordinate, the sway
Remains for me to bridle and vanquish
Until more sharply delineated...
Likewise, the primordial artist
Attributes his work to the dissolution
Of such a tremulous framework:
The Order of the Dragon.

The Second Image
Out of the gallery.
Yet one last glimpse, surmised right so:
My web I'll weave accordingly,
A tangled clasp, a hauling net,
Though, extricated, the spirits flee
And strings shall be pulled again.