Space is arguably there for the takers
but those who miss a vacuum’s significance
the frugal air, the silent highway
trial and error in circular motion.

Approaching the city, traditional spire-line
the artist is flung to an outside edge
forces - centrifugal, missing the centre
physics intent on staying mystic.

Outer-lane space offers quiet seclusion
and artist sets camps for a solid rebriefing.
"This far so fine and can’t complain
the paintings are selling, the sculptures - well

there’s talk of good money, those city cafs
buying up stuff to stay part of culture.
Nudes and I have always done well.
No reason this city can’t clear m’debt."

Rising to a windscreen of dusty sun
the artist consults with friend of a friend.
"Yeah, the gallery’s ready, I’ll need yr cash.
We won’t set up before ten. It is Sunday."

Artist parked on a sweeping curve
rejoicing in the freedom of unfamiliar space
oblivious to signs, the abandoned highway
travels a road where danger is a friend.

wishing to lay claim to desirable territory
the mobile artist - in iconic gear
synchronised mesh of singlet and beard
tries another drive past, nothing predicts
the next vacant place on a planet, deserting

with too little day to live the sins
and too little night for sleep’s satisfaction
this temper "artistique" thrives by reverse
praises the city for paving his way
while planting a vehicle for essential escape

our artist in grinstumble, rumour and revolt
at last rejoices in a vacant kerb
no choice but to take it forwards/backwards
mirror manoeuvres, fright at the blind spot
how to avoid that pedestrian space

squeezed by time, hugging the unknown
the artist of questions mysteriously parks
between a lemon and a lime green bus
one of those in your face "anti-them" vans
where no-one can avoid it; centre-campus
or was that canvas?