He wanted you to switch off your brain
Shun analysis
And lean into the paint
Leave aside conscious thought
And all the things you aint

Step inside
Past
Layers
And
Layers
Feel the work
For he is not saying
Give yourself over briefly
For you will not be staying

On wall sized panels
Dark enough
For all to handle
You will know
The soft limits of language
As you stride
Into the grand ditch
And stand there alone

They ask
How far back should we stand?
As from left to right they scan
We are almost out the room
It's getting out of hand

He frowns
As his head it itches
******* all these
Sons of *******


"Oh! All the way back
About eighteen inches.".