Folio · 2017

Op Art

William Anderson

The door is closed and I see not.

The lines and hues and shapes confused

Are hidden in my darkness. Yet,


More sense is got from Rohrshach’s blots

Than in this tangled angular refuse.

The door’s still closed. Wait. I see what?.


It looks like Waldo smoking pot

With Dr. Seuss? What’s more abstruse

Still hidden there in darkness yet?


Stare on stare I …Now, stairs I spot

With leaden head and mood abused?

A door that’s closed and icy? NOT!


What have we here? An eye? Or, knot?

“Aye, eye not knot,” say I, bemused

Still hidden in a dark mess, lost.


Is that a sea I see? Or moss?

Or marshmallows? A Goldberg kluge?

A door up close? …A-a-a-a-nd, I see naught!


I’m done. Oh, give me one more shot.

Make that a fifth. Art’s better stewed.

A deer – in clothes? Canned Hi-C? Nuts?

Awls? Hidden there in dark nests?! …Yachts!?

Folio · 2017