Every landscape painting is a left eye's worth

of a stereoscopic image. There's no comparison.
Sight has its own methodology. Hearing too.

If a picture could talk we could not understand it.
This, though black & white TV returned me better

than colour to where 'a hand can approximate
any shape'. Where the blessed say 'Oh yes'

about their pain. Let's have every image in sharp
focus evenly across the canvas 'just for now'.

Stanley Spenser, an old favourite. An old fart.
'Art' is what remains after a trip to Raspberry

Creek. It can be 'bolted to the asphalt' &
deserted by a whole team of people with tools

who walk away, leaving an eerie absence.
Recursive absence too. As in ekphrasis. Or a

'poem' upon a book of poetry. It can be a sign
saying: Go this way. As in a weathercock.

Or clock stopped 20:07. 'I step to the cliff edge-'
Or it can be something else entirely.