Let It Poem by Mark Heathcote

Painting can-be-at times, frenetic
but what I say is let it.
Let it explode off the canvas, volcanic
let it leap boundless into the stratosphere
like a comet's tail a million light-year too near
reaching internally for its nucleus
only to find its puncher a hole
right through some peculiar orifice.
Let the eye and the mind absorb its life and decay,
and-if-it finds lodgings let your soul
on another canvas, have its final say.